


Desperately Seeking

by SubtextQween



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:34:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 31,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22465729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SubtextQween/pseuds/SubtextQween
Summary: A chance encounter as the cracks deepen may very well save their lives.
Relationships: Susan Grimshaw/OFC
Comments: 17
Kudos: 35





	1. What is this place?

**Author's Note:**

> This is fic is non-canon. I have tried my best to stay true to the nature of the original characters but the story has been altered significantly. The story begins in Beaver Hollow, with the introduction of a new character. I hope you like it.

It turned out that Meredith was not the only living Murfee victim in the caves at Beaver Hollow. After Arthur left to take Meredith back to Annesburg, he returned to Lakay to guide the convoy on to their new ‘home.’

  


Charles ventured deeper into the cave to ensure they had weeded out all the animals. What he found was their prey, a young woman unconscious and half-naked, right at the back of the cave. He could feel her pulse, but he could not wake her, her body was littered with wounds, some shallow others deep, some healed and some fresh. Bruises stained porcelain skin and she felt warm to the touch, too warm, a fever gripped her tightly, she was clinging to life. Charles was unsure of what to do with her and even more unsure of what Dutch would do with her when he arrived, Charles wouldn’t kill her, he couldn’t but he knew there was a chance that even though they had saved her from the Murfee’s, death would soon catch up to her again.

  


He broke her free of her manacles and laid her on an old worn bedroll, to wait for the arrival of the others and set about clearing the area of all things macabre. Then he re-joined the girl, checked again for a pulse, prayed she would stir and flee but it did not happen. 

  


It took half a day for the others to arrive, Charles heard the carriages pull in, even from deep in the cave. He made his way to the mouth of the cavern, a grave look etched into his features, “Charles, there you are.” Dutch called from atop his mount, “Good work on securing the area, Ms Grimshaw let’s get our new camp in order.” Behind him was Arthur, who dismounted his horse quickly when he noted the look on Charles’ face. “Everything ok, Charles?” Charles lowered his head he did not want anyone else to hear them for now, as the girl’s fate was still unclear, “That girl from Annesburg, she wasn’t the only one. I found another, deeper in the cave. She’s in a bad way.” He answered quietly, as Arthur rested his hand upon his friends’ shoulder.

  


“Well, where is she, Charles?” Dutch enquired. Charles turned and headed back into the cave to lead the other men to the injured young woman, the three men acutely aware that another had joined them. Arthur turned to find they were being followed, “Where in the hell do you think you’re going?”

  


“Oh, calm down, cowpoke, I only came for a look.” Arthur stood firm in front of him, “And I am yet to understand why it is any of your goddamn business, Micah, you sick son of a bitch.” The blonde man chuckled, Arthur had never trusted him around the women in the camp, especially after watching him taunt Sadie when they found her and the way he propositioned the others, Abigail, Tilly, Mary-Beth, he made their skin crawl and Arthurs blood boil. “Nobody asked you to be here, now I suggest you turn around before I make you.” The other man was all talk when it came to Arthur, “Christ cowpoke, lighten up.” Dutch paced back towards them, “Goddamn it, will you two grow up...Arthur that is enough and Micah just wait outside.” Dutch intervened and Micah sneered at Arthur and turned to leave. “Arthur, what the hell is your problem? Why must you always start with him?” The chastisement was evident in Dutch’s voice, “You can trust him all you want, doesn’t mean I have to.” The older man shook his head, he had lost his grip on a lot of things recently, but nothing that disappointed him as much as Arthur’s slipping loyalty. 

  


They ventured the rest of the way into the cave in silence until they found her, she laid so still on the bedroll Charles had placed her on. “My God, those barbarians.” Dutch shook his head, Arthur could barely look at her, “I didn’t know what to do, I don’t know if she will make it, a fever has a tight hold on her. I wasn’t even sure she would last until you got here.” Dutch knelt by the girl’s side and lifted her limp wrist to feel for a pulse, “She is a fighter, a survivor and I don’t know what we can do for her.” His fingers twitched by the blade on his hip, but he stood again, “Charles, fetch Ms Grimshaw, she will know what to do.”

  


There was a sigh of relief, as Charles hurried to fetch the older woman. “We are struggling to keep everyone alive as it is, we don’t need another to weigh us down.” Arthur looked to the man he once respected, “I would ask you to take her to the nearest town and find her a doctor, but I fear she won’t’ make the journey if she was moved now. She can stay until she is strong enough and no longer, we don’t need any more trouble.” Arthur sighed, “This girl ain’t cause us any trouble Dutch, seems we are the ones that bring trouble with us. But it is nice to see, the old Dutch is still in there somewhere.” Dutch seethed, “I am doing my best.” The younger man took a seat next to the woman, “Yeah, yeah… And killing that old hag in Guarma was your best.”

  


Charles reappeared with Ms Grimshaw in tow before the situation could escalate any further and Dutch stormed past them. “I am not even going to talk to you when you are like this. Ms Grimshaw, see to it she is taken care of.” He yelled back as he left. Susan approached cautiously, “What is going on between you two?” She was about to enquire about why she had been summoned but the question died on her lips as her eyes fell on the young woman, “Lord, what is this place?” Her hand shot across her mouth. Arthur stood, his eyes flitted to Charles as he spoke, “A graveyard...” The woman bristled, “And it will be ours if we are not careful.” Susan Grimshaw was a hard woman, turned to stone by everything she had seen on the road with this motley crew. 

  


Arthur rested his strong hand on her shoulder, a move that she would have had his head for any other time, but she didn’t have the energy. Susan Grimshaw was not a tactile person and if you wanted sympathy from her, you had better be dying. “Ms Grimshaw, we are doing our best.” Arthur didn’t even know if he believed that anymore. The woman’s eyes did not leave the girl, “And a mite bit of good it has done us, Mr Morgan, you fellas were meant to keep us all safe and look where we are. Davey, Jenny, Mac, Sean, Kieran, Hosea,” Arthur cut her off, he was acutely aware of what they had lost on this half-cocked adventure. “Susan,” they were both caught in a rare moment of weakness, Ms Grimshaw was the first to snap out of it. “I have enough to be getting on with, without this. I can barely keep those other girls in line as it is, and Molly is still missing.”

  


“I know Ms. Grimshaw, I know…I will do what I can to help. Stay with her, please. I will speak to Abigail, about keeping the others in line. Do you need me to bring you anything?” Susan took a seat on a crate next to the other woman and shook her head, “There is a burdock root salve on Strauss’s wagon, I need water to wash out her wounds, some cloth to wrap the worst of them, we will need a fire to keep her warm and an extra bedroll.” Arthur nodded, “Charles get to work on a fire for me, I will be back with what you need.” 

  


He made his way out to the camp outside, wagons were being unloaded, tents being erected, and Pearson had begun to prepare tonight’s supper. Arthur spotted Abigail across the camp, she was attempting to settle Jack with a book, poor kid, didn’t know which way was up at this point. As he made his way over, Abigail having settled Jack stood and made her way to Pearson’s wagon to help with supper, that’s when he noticed Micah out of the corner of his eye. The blonde man slunk across the camp towards the woman and Arthur kept his distance for a moment, to see what would happen. “Abigail Roberts, when you gonna let me take you into town?” Despite the distance between them, Arthur could see the frustration that adorned the woman’s face, “Micah, I really don’t got time for this,” 

  


The yellow-haired bastard was unhappy with Abigail’s response and he grabbed her by the wrist, “You know I don’t have to be so polite; I can take whatever I want.” Abigail squirmed under his grip, “Micah let me go,” she begged, her heart was beating hard against her chest, the truth was he terrified her, he terrified all of them, but she didn’t want to show any signs of weakness. “I asked so nicely, you really shouldn’t say no to me.” Arthur had had enough, “You shouldn’t put your hands on a lady like that, Micah.” The other man did not loosen his grip on Abigail’s wrist, “Good thing I don’t see any ladies around here cowpoke.” Arthur pushed forward and grabbed him by the throat, “Put your hands on her again and I will cut them off and feed them to you, you slimy bastard. I swear to god Micah, I will put you in an early grave if you lay a finger on anyone in this camp.”

  


Micah laughed, “Get a hold of yourself cowpoke, I am only messing around. Now get your goddamn hands off of me.” He backed away with his arms raised, pretending to surrender. “You ok? Did he hurt you?” Arthur turned his concern to Abigail, “I’m ok Arthur, Thank you. He will be smarting after that one, I would be careful if I was you.” Arthur took her hand in his and inspected her wrist, he knew she was lying, “I have to talk to you about something, but first…. I need you and the rest of them to tell me when he gets outta hand. Can’t do nothing, if I don’t know nothing. You don’t have to put up with that. None of you does, I mean it.” Abigail took back her hand, “Oh we don’t want to start nothing, Arthur, he’s all talk mostly. But I will let you know if he goes too far, I will tell the other girls too. What did you need to talk to me about?” 

  


“Well I don’t quite know how to explain this, but we found someone in the caves, a woman, she’s in a bad way, because of them damn Murfees. Dutch has asked Ms Grimshaw to look after her but she can’t do that and set up the camp, I told her I would speak to you about it, you’re the only one those girls listen to and we could use all the help we can get. I know you have Jack, but I thought…” Abigail cut him off, “I don’t mind helping a bit more, most of us will be happy to have a break from Ole Ms Grimshaw barking orders all the time. God help that girl if the person nursing her back to health is that ornery old woman.” Arthur chuckled, “I ‘preciate it, Abigail. And go easy on Susan.”

  


Arthur collected everything that Susan had asked for and headed back to her, he met Charles on his way back to the mouth of the cave, “Got that fire started for them Arthur.” Arthur nodded in thanks but continued into the cavern without stopping. Although he was in no rush to gaze upon the brood’s handiwork again, he did not want to keep Ms Grimshaw waiting. Susan failed to notice his return and Arthur couldn’t help but notice her position. She was not facing him, he could only see her profile, but she stood hunched, one arm folded across her chest and the other rested on top, her slender fingers pinched the bridge of her nose. He understood her frustration, heck he was feeling it himself, but then something took him by surprise, a sniffle. The noise stopped him in his tracks, he was sure he had just caught hardened ole Ms Grimshaw crying, he wondered whether he should leave while wrestling with his indecision, the older woman spotted him. She quickly wiped the tears from her face, embarrassed he had seen her like that, “Are you just gonna stand there Mr Morgan? Give me those.” She snatched the pile of supplies from Arthur and began to fuss over laying down her bedroll, “You can leave now, Mr Morgan. I don’t need your help.” 

  


Without thinking Arthur gently gripped both her arms, to stop her from fussing. “Oh, enough of this, I don’t need your pity, Mr Morgan.” It didn’t stop him, though he was most uncomfortable and severely out of his depth, he pulled the older woman close to him and wrapped both arms around her firmly, she did not melt into his arms, but she did not pull away either. “I am sorry Ms Grimshaw, I don’t think any of us has stopped to see how you were doing in all of this.” The woman stayed still in his arms, “That’s because nobody cares, Mr Morgan. As I said I am fine.” Arthur took a step back, “I care. And I am sorry, you do so much around here and hardly get any thanks for it. I don’t know what we would do without you.” Susan moved away from him, “Turn feral I’d imagine. Anyway, goodnight Mr Morgan.”

  


He turned to leave, once he was around the corner and out of sight, he picked a spot to rest in. He felt uneasy about leaving both the women down there on their own, he knew Micah wouldn’t mess with Susan, but he just didn’t want to leave her. Then he heard her speak, in a voice much softer than he was accustomed to with her. “My Lord, what have they done to you? Savages the lot of them. I don’t know whether you will survive this, even if you wake. We’ll dress these wounds and hope for the best.” She lowered her voice again, to a whisper this time. “We don’t know each other but I don’t know if I can lose another. I do pray you fight a little longer.” She began to sing softly as she washed and dress the young woman’s wounds.

  


_Hangman, Hangman, slack up your rope, oh slack it for a while._

  


_I look down yonder to see Ma comin', she's walked for a many long mile._

_Oh, Ma, say Ma, have you brung me any gold, any gold to pay my fee?_

_Or have you walked these many long miles_

_See me on the hangin' tree?_

_No, no, I ain't brought you any gold, no gold for to pay your fee._

_But I just walked these many long miles_

_See you on the hangin' tree._

_Hangman, Hangman, slack up your rope, oh slack it for a while._

  


_I look down yonder to see my true love comin', she's walked for a many long mile._

_Oh, true love, say, true love, have you brung me any gold, any gold to pay my fee?_

_Or have you walked these many long miles_

_See me on the hangin' tree?_

_Yes love, yes love, I've brung you some gold, some gold for to pay your fee._

_And I've just come for to take you home so we can marry thee._

  


The older woman finished her song, she had come to cradle the young woman’s head in her lap, leaning back against the wall of the cave it wasn’t long until sleep caught up to Miss Grimshaw. Arthur had long fallen into a slumber, listening to the woman’s gentle crooning.


	2. No more Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She returns, She confesses, She lives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just couldn't have her do it. Hope you like it so far!

She woke the next morning, terribly uncomfortable because of the position she had slept in. She opened her eyes and looked down to see the young woman’s head was still in her lap. She sighed, still slightly disorientated from sleep, she tried to bring her hands up to rub her face and realised one was being weighed down. The hand in question was rested on top of the other woman’s abdomen and at some point, during the night she had come to grip Susan’s hand quite tightly, it was a sign that this young woman was going to fight a little harder. 

Ms Grimshaw was unsure of what to do, so she stayed where she was, unwilling to potentially wake the girl and for panic to ensue, it was too early. This was the first time she really looked at the girl, she was thin, so thin, she could see the bones in her chest poking out. She had long blonde hair, dulled from her time spent in the cave, filthy and stuck to her head. She couldn’t be any older than twenty-five, she noticed the indent of a wedding ring on her finger. Susan wondered where she came from, what she was doing that caused her to end up here and if she had anyone to go home to? She absentmindedly brushed a few stray locks of hair out of the woman’s eyes. She was very pretty and apart from a few faded bruises that peppered her face, they had left her soft features relatively unblemished.

Susan was lost in her thoughts completely until she heard a voice shouting, “Jack…Jack get back here. Jack, you better not be in that cave?” It was Abigail, panic set in, she didn’t want that sweet boy to see this poor girl. She lifted the girls head gently and shimmied out from underneath her and made her way towards the entrance of the cave. She rounded the corner and spotted Arthur, still fast asleep. She shook her head, then she lifted her hand and slapped his boot, “Good Morning, Mr Morgan.” Arthur woke with a start, “I told you I didn’t need your help.” Arthur chuckled, “Good Morning, but Ms Grimshaw, I would’ve missed your beautiful singing?”

She smacked him again, “Oh you flatterer,” she was comforted by the fact that Arthur had not left her, it was almost as if he did care. She then continued her way out of the cave. Halfway up, a small body ran into hers, “Oomph, Jack, I do believe I can hear your mother calling you.” She looked down at the little boy in her arms, he was staring up at her, he looked terrified. “So-S-Sorry Ms Grimshaw.” She ruffled his hair gently and turned him back towards his mother’s voice and she walked beside him, “I need you to promise me something Jack, can you do that?” She gently took his hand, “Yes,” Jack replied shakily. “I need you to stay out of this cave, it’s not safe.” The small boy looked at her very confused, “Well, how come you are down here all by yourself?” A voice came from behind them, “Well, she wasn’t Jack, I was keeping an eye on her. And Ms Grimshaw is right, you need to stay out of this cave. Ya hear?” 

“Yes, Uncle Arthur.” They soon ran into Abigail, “Jack, you are not allowed to be in this cave, I am so sorry Ms Grimshaw, I will keep a better eye on him.” Susan felt sorry for the woman. One night doing what she did every day and it had already taken its toll on her, she looked exhausted. “Yes, Miss Roberts, please ensure you do, but it seems Uncle Arthur and Jack here, have come to an agreement and he won’t be wandering around these caves anytime soon. Arthur, do us a favour and escort the boy from the cave, I need a moment with Miss Roberts.” Abigail watched as they left, she was so nervous she almost forgot to breathe. “Oh for god sake, Abigail calm down.” She took the other woman’s hands in hers, “I am very grateful that I was not disturbed last night, for the first night in a really long time. Thank you for keeping things in line while I dealt with…well.” Abigail’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head; Susan Grimshaw was being nice to her. “How is she?” she asked sheepishly. “I think she might just make it, Miss Roberts. She’s a fighter and I am glad we found her when we did.”

“I can’t even imagine what she has been through, that poor girl.” They were interrupted by Arthur, “Ms Grimshaw, I brought you some breakfast, can I get you anything else?” She took the plate from him and gave him a curt nod. “Thank you for the offer Mr Morgan, but I don’t know if having men around that young woman is such a good idea. I am hopeful she will wake up soon, maybe Miss Roberts you could bring me some things?” Arthur bowed his head and left, he knew she was right, men took her, men kept her captive and men hurt her. “Of course, I can. Just so you know, most people in the camp know about her and I am sure all the girls would be glad to help in any way they can.” Susan thanked her and told her what she needed, she advised the other woman to get Karen to help with the supplies, not Tilly or Mary-Beth. Then she headed back to where the woman lay. She ate her breakfast, then she set to work on the fire. It had gone out during the night and the cave was terribly drafty.

Abigail and Karen returned shortly after she had the fire going. She had asked them to bring a fresh bucket of water, new bandages, another clean bedroll and some clean clothes, something loose and easy to put on. They saw the young woman for the first time, “My god that poor girl. What did they do to her?” Karen didn’t speak, “Can you do me one more favour Miss Roberts, Miss Jones? I need the two of you to help me move her onto that fresh bedroll. That other one is horribly stained and dirty; I don’t want her wounds to get anymore infected.” The two women did not hesitate, they gently slid her off the dirty roll and onto a fresh one. “Do you need anything else, Ms Grimshaw?” Karen finally spoke, Susan looked up at her, recognising the look in Karen’s eyes. “Not too different from how I found you, Miss Jones, huh?” Abigail shot a look between the two of them, “No,” Karen muttered softly, “But she probably didn’t bring it on herself like I did.”

Susan got to her feet and approached the young blonde, “You didn’t bring it on yourself any more than she did. Wrong place, wrong time, Miss Jones, nothing more.” Karen snapped out of it when she remembered Abigail was there as well. “Ms Grimshaw here got me out of a pretty bad situation when we first met. My Pa was a nasty drunk and a gambler, the son of a bitch lost me in a poker game, for Christ sake. It only got worse from there, is it any wonder I drink.” She tried to laugh it off, but Karen’s eyes gave her away, they brimmed with fresh tears. “Did I ever say thank you?”

“No, Miss Jones, but it wasn’t necessary. Now, thank you both for your help but it is not needed anymore.” The two women knew to do as they were told when it came to Ms Grimshaw and they left her to it. She used the cloths the women brought to wash the unconscious woman’s hair, she stripped off the old rags she wore and gently wiped down her body too, applying a new layer of salve to the worst of her wounds. Then she propped the other woman up and grabbed the clothes the women brought for her to use, it was a large men’s shirt and it was heavy, she pulled it to her and realised there was something wrapped up in it. It was a book. Just one of Mary-Beth’s silly romance novels but it would help with the monotony. She slipped the shirt over the woman’s head and settled her back onto the bedroll. Then she pulled her own over, so she could lean against an old wagon that was falling apart, she grabbed the book and placed it in her lap to begin reading. The book was ridiculous, no one in their right mind behaved like that, still, she was lost in it, until she heard a commotion and yelling from outside the cave. She bolted from where she sat. “Molly,” she whispered as she ran. 

“It’s Molly. You sack of shit.” she was drunk, too drunk. Susan made her way to the entrance of the cave quickly, as Molly made her confession, “I told them, and I would tell them again.” Dutch’s voice was a low growl, barely audible, over the top of the commotion, “You did what?” Molly swung around in her stupor, “Mr Milton and Mr Ross…about the bank robbery and I wanted them to kill you.” Susan saw Dutch reaching for his gun, that silly girl was going to get herself killed but that’s exactly what she wanted. That man had taken such a hold on Molly, destroyed her, like he destroyed Susan herself once. She was vaguely aware that Arthur was trying to reason with him, but she could also see it wasn’t working. She grabbed the shotgun that lay on the table nearby and fired into the air. 

The crowd parted, “Would you all pull yourself together, an idiot could see this is just another cry for your attention, Dutch. She would never betray you, no matter how much you hurt her, I should know.” It was out of her mouth before she could control herself, a small confession, she hoped no-one heard. “All she did was sit and pine after you and all you did was ignore her. For god sake, see some sense.” Susan practically squealed, she was never fond of Molly, but she was not about to watch someone else die unnecessarily. “She is blind drunk and blind in love. Let her sober up and talk to her when she is making a bit more sense.” Dutch tried to argue but Susan had already grabbed the girl by the hair and dragged her into the cave with her. “You stupid bitch, do you know what you have done? You’re a liar and you’re pathetic, getting this bent out of shape over a man.” Halfway down she let go of the younger woman, “Quit your snivelling and keep moving Miss O’Shea.”

Molly sobbed as she walked, they came upon the area Susan had set up for herself and Molly saw the other young woman. “Never you mind her, Miss O’Shea, sit down.” Molly did as she was told, “You tell me now girl and you tell me straight; did you have anything to do with the Pinkertons showing up in Saint-Denis?” Molly turned away from the other woman, refusing to look her in the eye. It meant she didn’t see the hand rise, but she felt it connect with her cheek, “I asked you a goddamn question, answer me. I swear, I will shoot you myself if you did.” Molly cradled her burning cheek in her hand. “No, of course not, you stupid old hag. They pinched me outside Saint-Denis, held me for hours, but I didn’t say a word. They threatened me and I still didn’t tell them a fucking thing.” She curled herself into a ball, “Oh you haven’t the common sense god gave dirt, Miss O’Shea, you have made a real mess for yourself.” 

“She certainly did, Ms Grimshaw.” Neither of the women was aware of Dutch’s presence until he spoke, “I nearly shot you, Molly O’Shea. Susan a word.” Susan took a deep breath, when she was close enough, Dutch gripped her elbow tightly and pulled her a few feet away. “Just who in the hell do you think you are, Ms Grimshaw?” His thumb and fingers pressed deep into her skin, he was determined to leave a mark, she gritted her teeth, “What in the hell was I supposed to do Mr Van der Linde, let you shoot the girl.” The rage coming off Dutch was palpable; he gripped her face and drew her in close to his own. “Remember your place, Ms Grimshaw, this is my camp. Show some goddamn loyalty.” He scared her witless, but she was so tired of him treating her like she didn’t matter and like she didn’t do everything and anything for him. “I am loyal, I been loyal, Dutch. And you’re right, you made this mess not me. Half of us are dead and gone, thanks to you.” She knew it was coming, his free hand connected with her cheek, the sting was instant. “You pathetic, dumb fool,” he struck her so hard she sank to her knees in front of him and he seized her by the hair, “This is your place, Ms Grimshaw, on your knees, like the day I found you. Make sure Miss O’Shea is more presentable before you return her to me.” 

With that, he stormed off out of the cave. Molly had seen everything, she was unsure of what to do and suddenly, she felt too sober. Ms Grimshaw had not returned to her feet yet, Molly stood cautiously and approached the other woman hesitantly. She bent down beside Susan to help her stand, she knew at any moment the woman could bite her head off, but Susan had saved her life and the least Molly could do was try. To her surprise the other woman did not protest, she pulled her up and reached up to fix her hair, “Why do we let him do this to us? Why do we let any of them do it to us?” She placed her hand underneath the older woman’s chin and tilted her face up until their eyes met. “And now he wants me to go back to him, to act like nothing happened as if I can forget he was gonna shoot me.” His nails had left marks on either side of the woman’s face and where he struck her blazed red. Molly caressed the side of Ms Grimshaw’s face with her hand, Susan shook her off. “And you would do well to do just that. Forget everything and pretend you're grateful to be back in his bed, Miss O’Shea. Dutch Van Der Linde is a very dangerous man. You know that, you ain’t as stupid as you like to pretend. Keep yourself right Miss O’Shea, we’ve made our bed now we must lie in it until he decides otherwise.”

Molly knew she was right, they had trailed her back here because of him, he owned her. “Best you stay down here with me and sleep off the rest of whatever you drank.” Susan settles back beside the unconscious woman, “Use that bedroll and I don’t wanna hear a peep out of you until you’re sober.” The younger woman complied and laid down. She looked up to see Ms Grimshaw pick up her book and couldn’t help but chuckle, “And what is funny Miss O’Shea?” Ms Grimshaw did not even look up from her book, “I was told not to speak until I sobered up Ms Grimshaw.” It was Susan’s turn to chuckle, “Very funny, dear. Now tell me what is so hilarious.” 

“I never took you for a romantic Ms Grimshaw, that’s all. You gone soft on us? And for god sake, call me Molly. It feels like I have done something wrong every time you call me Miss O’Shea.” Molly said as she rolled over to face away from the older woman, Susan took a second to realise her meaning and she rolled her eyes. “Most of the time you have done something wrong, Miss O’Shea. Abigail and Karen brought it down for me, one of Mary-Beth’s I presume. I got bored, down here all by myself.” Molly laughed again, “Ok, Ok, Ms Grimshaw, don’t worry I won’t tell anyone.” The older woman huffed, “Oh mind your damn business.” Susan cast an eye over the unconscious woman, her condition hadn’t changed much during the day, the older woman wondered if she had been a bit premature with her diagnosis, she wondered if the girl really was getting stronger. She wanted her to live, she felt very strongly about it and she didn’t quite know why. She cared for all her girls but this one was a complete stranger. She didn’t even know her name.


	3. Wake and tell me your name, dear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She is angry, She is scared, She is heartbroken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My stories tend to be slow-burners, bare with me. Hope you enjoy!

The redhaired woman was dead asleep within a few minutes and Susan had some peace again. A few hours past and she finished the book. She gently placed it on the floor beside her and moved towards the other young woman in her charge. She placed a hand on her cheek, her temperature had come down. She whispered, “Time to wake up, dear.” As she returned to her feet, she noticed her arm had begun to smart. She glanced over towards the redhead again, to ensure she hadn’t caused her to wake, she was snoring lightly, Susan had nothing to distract her anymore. The dull ache in her cheek seemed to intensify, it was as if his fingers still gripped her face, how had she let this happen. She rolled up her sleeve to inspect her elbow, her shirt was stuck to her arm slightly and she had to peel it away. He had broken the skin and she didn’t even realise, her pink shirt now stained red. Unfortunately, she had reopened the cuts and they began to bleed again. 

She wasn’t this person. Weak, subservient and cowardly. Susan had learned to take care of herself from a young age. She entered the world to an adoring mother, loving father and two protective older brothers, but tragedy had always hung around her like a shadow. Susan’s mother died when she was five, in childbirth, the child did not survive either. It had been another little girl; she never had a name. Susan’s father was a good man, he raised her on his own, raised her to be strong and to protect herself. Her eldest brother had died when she was twelve, he had been crushed by a falling tree in a storm that winter.

At eighteen, she was engaged to a man named Thomas, he was kind and loved her dearly. Thomas was a compassionate man, he worked in a stable with horses, she had never known anyone to love animals as he did. “Much better than humans, Susie. They love unconditionally as I love you.” He did not make much, she didn’t care, they had mapped out their life together. It was all taken from her, men broke into the stable one night to steal the horses. Thomas wasn’t foolish enough to try and stop them, but they shot him anyway. He died alone. 

She took off after his death, her heart was broken. She fell into a less reputable life quickly. She received news her father passed when she was twenty-four, her brother blamed her, said he had died of a broken heart. The reality was he had drunk himself to death, it was a lot for one man to lose. It was ten years before she ran into Dutch and Hosea. She caught them in a scam, the hotel she worked at was the target of their scheme. It was a very busy hotel, with many gentleman callers, she had figured out what they were up to the moment they walked through the door. The idiots never bought a lady’s time they didn’t even seem to notice the scantily clad women that surrounded them, a dead giveaway. She hustled them out of half their take. Held them at gunpoint with the two little ivory peacekeepers in her boots. She called it payment for her silence and Dutch invited her to join them right there and then. She saw a spark of admiration in his eyes, he had been outsmarted but by a worthy opponent. He seemed invincible, that’s what had drawn her to him.

She had never known Dutch to be like this. Sure, he had a temper, but he had never put his hands on her. There was a time when she thought she loved him; she knew now it was infatuation. And not with the man, but with his ideals. They had used each other to curb the loneliness, it is never pleasant to be left with one’s thoughts for too long. She stayed with him, even after he discarded her for his darling Annabel. She was jealous for a long time, not of Annabel but Dutch.

The gang was smaller back then, Dutch, Hosea, Arthur, John, Davey, Annabel, Bessie and Susan. They were fiercely protective of each other and she had loved Annabel, she was her sister, Hosea’s dear Bessie too. After Annabel’s murder, he couldn’t even look at her. Colm had been watching, he waited until Dutch and the others rode out on a job and he strolled into their camp with eery confidence. She remembers it like it was yesterday, he had four men with him, they surrounded them as they sat around the fire. She had demanded he tell them what he wanted. He never broke eye contact with her as he drew his gun and told her to give Dutch his regards. Susan had caught Annabel as she fell, her warm blood soaked through her clothes and coated her hands, she had held her as she died. For days she scrubbed herself raw, she still felt the blood on her skin, couldn’t scrub away the memory of Annabel’s lifeless body.

“Ms Grimshaw, what happened?” Karen and Abigail had come down to bring Susan some food and something to drink, Susan jumped a mile, “Lord, I have had quite enough of people sneaking up on me in this hell hole.” She was exacerbated with the situation, “We’re sorry, we didn’t mean to startle you. We thought you both might be thirsty and maybe a little hungry. How is she doing?” Abigail motioned to the sleeping redhead. “Oh, she’s fine, she’ll be hungry when she wakes.” Abigail handed a bowl of stew and a cup of water to Susan and Karen placed the other beside the sleeping woman. “What about the other one?” Susan hung her head, truthfully, she had no idea. “Her pulse is strong, and her fever has almost broken, but she is yet to wake, so at this point, I don’t know.” Ms Grimshaw placed the bowl and cup on a crate beside her, she wasn’t hungry. Abigail came to stand beside Susan, she could feel the woman’s frustration, “Let me take a look at that arm?”

“Not necessary Miss Roberts but thank you for the food.” She tried to brush off the offer, Susan was very good at taking care of others, but she was not used to anyone wanting to take care of her. “Oh no you don’t, arm, please? God knows what you could catch down here.” Abigail was not about to take no for an answer, Susan looked up and into Abigail’s pleading eyes. She blustered slightly but ultimately held her arm out for the other woman to inspect. As the young brunette checked her over, Karen spoke barely above a whisper, “Susan.” She looked over at Karen, as Abigail took out a fresh jar of the burdock salve from a pocket in her skirt and began to apply it to her arm. “Who did that to you?” Their eye contact was interrupted when Susan averted her gaze. “I can see the marks on your face as well,” Karen spoke with a little more confidence now. Abigail looked up at Ms Grimshaw’s face abruptly, she had not noticed the dark, angry marks along the woman’s jawline and the fresh bruise that decorated her cheek, how had she missed it?

“Well, it wasn’t Molly, Miss Jones. Don’t ask stupid questions you already know the answer to.” Abigail went back to tending her arm, she wrapped it in a spare strip of cloth, Ms Grimshaw winced as she secured it. “Sorry,” Susan assured her it was fine and thanked her. “He has lost his damn mind.” The older woman strode across the cave to where Karen stood, “Miss Jones, he is doing his best.” She stepped closer to the blonde woman and leant forward to whisper in her ear, “You be careful what you say and where you say it. You don’t know who is listening.”

“You did a real brave thing, standing up for Molly.” The older woman tutted. “Brave as it may have seemed, it was also very foolish.” She made her way to the slumbering Irish woman to nudge her awake. “Molly.” She shook her again, this time the woman woke and turn around to face her. “You had better have a good reason to wake me.” Susan shoved the bowl of food towards her. “Eat this, Abigail and Karen brought it for you.” The redhaired woman looked around and realised they were not alone. “Oh, come to gawk at the crazy person, have ye?” Abigail and Karen rolled their eyes, they could see that Molly’s brush with Death had done nothing to curb her rampant paranoia. “Not disputing the crazy…Oh but you forgot the stupidity.” Old habits die hard were Karen is concerned. Susan shot her a look and Molly hung her head in embarrassment, “Don’t be too hard on yourself, red. I’m glad, you’re still breathing.” 

Molly was surprised by the blonde woman’s admission, but she didn’t have time to react because they could hear footsteps. All four of them looked to see who was coming, it was Arthur and he approached the older woman. “Ladies. Ms Grimshaw, I know you thought it best I stay away, but I couldn’t keep these two away much longer.” Tilly and Mary-Beth appeared from around the corner. “We’re sorry Ms Grimshaw, we wanted to make sure you were both ok.” Susan rolled her eyes; she knew nosiness got the best of them. “Well, Miss Gaskill, Miss Jackson, thank you for your concern but we are quite well.” The girls rushed to sit beside Molly, they chattered incessantly with each other, expressing how happy they were to have her back, even happier that she was alive. Susan felt a rough hand under her chin, she sprung back, “Susan, I’m sorry.” She held up her hand to stop him. “OK, I will leave you to it.” With that Arthur left them. 

“Ms Grimshaw, how is the girl?” Tilly approached her. “Her condition has not changed much, but I am hopeful that with a bit more time… she will be ok.” She took a seat next to the injured girl. “I should probably redress her wounds, would you help me, Miss Jackson?” Tilly happily obliged. Between the two of them, they cleaned and dressed the wounds once again. The other four tittered back and forth from where Molly had slept. “Thank you, Miss Jackson.” She stepped back and took a seat on a crate. “We don’t know anything about her, what do you think will happen to her when she wakes up. What do you think is stopping her?” Abigail looked up from where she sat, “Men broke into our house when I was little, they beat my ma and pa. They did other things to my ma as well. She barely held on and it took her a long time to come back to us. Doctor said that it wasn’t just the body that had to heal, it was the mind as well.”

“It makes sense, guess my mind is taking its time healing. That’s why I drink.” Karen laughed, it was her go-to joke, but no one else did. “Oh Miss Jones, your timing is impeccable. Anyway, it’s late and you should all get to bed. Miss O’Shea, I want you dressed and by Dutch’s side in the morning. Abigail, Tilly, Karen, thank you for your help and co-operation. Now off you go, I am exhausted, and I want to sleep.” They wished her a good night and went on their way. Molly thanked her again and she asked the others to watch out for her, she was sure some amongst their camp would not be as willing to believe the redhead was innocent. 

She pulled her bedroll a little closer to the girl tonight, “Wake and tell me your name, dear.” She pleaded as she settled herself to sleep. And it wasn’t long until her exhaustion claimed her. Although, it was a slumber disturbed, a fitful sleep and she woke with a start from a terrible dream. She had at some point turned herself to face away from the sick woman, she sighed and rolled over. She chanced a glance across, and she was met by two open striking eyes, Susan gasped. “You’re awake.”


	4. How did you come to be here, Dear?

The young woman in front of her stretched out her hand and caressed Susan’s cheek. “Florence,” she choked out; it was barely audible. Susan got to her feet at once and searched for the cup of water the other girls had brought her earlier. “Here, drink this.” She knelt in front of the other woman and lifted her head, Florence gulped ferociously at the water. “Easy, Easy. You don’t want to choke.” Susan watched her cautiously, she was finally awake. 

“Florence,” she said again, “My name, it’s Florence… Are you real? Tell me what kind of angel you are?” Susan was taken aback, but she couldn’t help but laugh that anyone thought she was an angel. The others would laugh too, but that wasn’t a new thing they laughed at her all the time. She knew she was the camp joke. “I am afraid I am no angel, Miss, but I am real. My name is Susan, Ms Grimshaw, associates of mine found you in this cave two days ago.” She took the cup from the young woman and set it on the floor beside them, she was still cradling her head in her other hand. “Please forgive me, cher. But the last time I opened my eyes, I was surrounded by monsters, certain I heard death call my name. Yet here I am, alive and it is your face I gaze upon now.” She reached up again and allowed her fingers to ghost over Susan’s face. Then she drew her hand back sharpish as if she had scalded her fingertips. “Forgive me, cher. I never imagined I would see any beauty in this world again.”

Susan blushed, it had been a long time since anyone referred to her as a beauty and she wasn’t even sure that is what the young woman meant. Florence made like she was going to try and get up; Susan knew that was not a good idea yet. She placed a hand on the woman’s chest to stop her from rising, “Miss, I don’t think that is a good idea. I don’t know how long you have been unconscious?” It did not stop the woman from propping herself up on her elbows, she pointed weakly to the area where she had been chained. “You could count the notches I made on the wall. I was taken on the August 31st, each notch is a day. What date is it?” Susan made her way across to the wall, sure enough there were the notches, there were so many. “October 8th.” She had been in this place for over a month, “That means I have been here thirty-eight days, how many notches I got on that wall?” Susan had just finished counting, “Thirty-four, which means you were unconscious for four days.” Susan watched as something dawned on the young woman, she looked panicked, “Where is Meredith? Did you find her too?” Susan was grateful to have good news for her. “Yes, one of the men I travel with returned her to her mother in Annesburg.” She smiled weakly from ear to ear, “She made it.”

“Please, can you help me sit up?” Susan crossed back over to the young girl without saying a word and she reached down to guide Florence’s arms around her neck, “I’m not going to hurt you, am I?” the blonde woman shook her head. She pulled her up and helped her rest against the crate behind her. “You have got to be hungry, Miss. There should still be stew on the fire, I will go fetch you some.” Florence reached out for her again, “I promise, I won’t be long,” she tried to reassure her. She turned quickly and hurried from the cave; she didn’t want the girl to be on her own too long. It was a calm night in Beavers Hollow, she looked around. The camp looked well. Just through the canopy of trees, she could see the stars glisten.

Everyone was asleep, she strode across the camp to the back of Pearson’s wagon, where she knew the stew pot would be. The pot wasn’t as warm as she would like but it was better than cold. She filled a bowl and another glass of water, then she made sure to check on her girls before heading back into the cave. Molly, Mary-beth, Karen and Tilly were all sleeping soundly under the canopy of their wagon. 

She heard the tent beside her rustle, she expected it was just the wind but when she turned around, she came face to face with Abigail. “Miss Roberts, what are you doing awake?” She reached out for the woman in the dark and placed a hand on her arm. “Looking after the camp, I heard someone was up and I thought maybe someone needed something. Do you…need something?” She reassured the woman that everything was ok, “Finally hungry?” Abigail looked down at the food she was carrying and rested her hand on top of Susan’s. “Yes, and I want to eat it when it’s still got some heat to it, so off to bed with you.” Abigail gave her hand a light squeeze, “Goodnight, Ms Grimshaw.” Susan headed back towards the cave, “Goodnight Miss Roberts.” She wasn’t sure why she didn’t tell Abigail the woman was awake but she guessed it could wait until the morning.

A smile spread across Florence’s face when Ms Grimshaw appeared from around the corner again. She had a beautiful smile, despite everything that had happened to her, of which the extent was unclear. “It's not hot, but it ain’t cold either.” She held out the bowl of stew and a cup of water for the other woman. “Thank you.” Florence reached out and took both, she sipped the water and looked hesitantly at the stew. “Ain’t you hungry? I can’t imagine they fed you properly.” Florence pushed the stew around with her spoon. “How much do you know about the Murfee’s?” Susan looked at her curiously, “Not a lot, I guess.” Susan noted the grave look on the woman’s face. “How did you come to be here, dear?” The woman looked up at her again, she patted the bedroll beside her and motioned for Susan to take a seat. Susan sat without hesitation.

The young woman was apprehensive about sharing her story, Susan could only assume that it was painful, given where she had ended up. She was in fact married to someone she described as a kind, gentleman. She said he was large and sturdy, with big arms and a strong chest. “He wasn’t the love of my life, but he was my soulmate. We understood each other in a way I never thought possible. We are always told that they are things we will never understand about men and vice versa, the mysteries of the sexes. That wasn’t the case with Edward and me.” 

She explained that Edward was a doctor but found it hard to stay away from the wilderness for too long. So, as a solution, they travelled to cities and towns in need. He had been contacted by a friend in Annesburg, who required help with an increasing number of sick miners. They had come across from Tumbleweed in New Austin which had fallen foul to a yellow fever outbreak. “We stayed in Armadillo, Edward rode there and back every day, said he didn’t want me any closer. He always said he would never forgive himself if anything happened to me.” 

Her parents had made the match for her, she didn’t want to marry him, she didn’t want to marry at all. They had insisted, they were cruel and unusual people and so was Edward’s father. His mother died when he was just a little boy, leaving him alone with his father. Edward’s father had spent his whole life sharpening himself, by the end he was all edges. She dreaded meeting Edward after meeting his father, she was terrified the first time they met. 

The door to the drawing-room had swung open and in came this hulking specimen with his rough bearded face, “I was told he was a doctor; I had never seen a doctor that looked like him.” Edward was ten years her senior. He had refused to marry while he completed his studies. Which he did complete and then he had refused to come home. So, after a few years, his father had then threatened to cut him off, the money he sent Edward was going straight into the small doctor’s office he was helping run out at Hennigan Stead. Not wanting to turn patients away he returned home to his father, for the purpose of marrying. “He spoke so gently; his voice did not match his stature. I couldn’t help but love him instantly.” They were married for fifteen years, which meant she was much older than Susan had initially thought. 

It was on their way to Annesburg, that it all happened. They had stopped in Strawberry, then Valentine from there they stopped briefly at Emerald Ranch before heading on the final stretch to Annesburg. They were ambushed at the crossing near Elysian Pool, Edward had stopped to inspect the area. He noticed the animals in the area were mangy and the water was a strange colour. That’s when they attacked, Edward turned to grab his gun, but he wasn’t fast enough, “One of those terrible men spun him around and stabbed him right in the chest, he looked to me and he told me he was sorry before I watched the light leave his eyes and the life leave his body.”

“They wrenched me from the wagon, I fought hard, one of them hit me with the butt of his pistol. They tied me up and placed me on the back of one of their horses, I heard one of them tell the rider to bring me back here. When I looked back, a man appeared on horseback as they ransacked our wagon. He killed them; he is the only reason my sweet Edward was not brought to this place.” Florence assured Susan that everything she had heard about the Murfee’s was true but there was more to them than meets the eye. Yes, they had an abnormal repugnant curiosity for the murder and dissection of their victims. But also had a sickeningly grotesque penchant for the taste of human flesh. “I was determined to live and after it became clear no one was coming for me, I needed to keep myself strong, in case the opportunity of escape presented itself. They made stew, I tried not to think about it.” Susan looked at the girl bewildered, “I wanted to live, I wasn’t afraid of them. It drove them mad. They played games with us, cut us for fun. I didn’t flinch, didn’t want to give them the satisfaction. As time went on, I could feel the infection spreading and the fever latching itself to my body. I felt at peace knowing they wouldn’t have the pleasure of taking my life.”

Florence had fought back against the tidal wave of tears, but she could not hold them back any longer. The sob ripped through her body, Susan couldn’t help herself, careful not to hurt her, she pulled the younger woman to rest against her chest. She felt her body vibrate with sorrow, “I could not mourn him, I don’t know where his body is.” She clung tightly to Susan shirt, which dampened with the fragile woman’s tears. “I never thought I would see another person again.” Susan pulled her closer still, she was out of her depth, but she wanted the young woman to know she was safe, that it was all behind her. She couldn’t believe how strong she had been, how strong her desire to live was. The young woman pulled away from her and wiped the tears from her face, “God, what must you think of me?” 

“I am quite simply amazed by your resilience, Miss.” Susan hung her head, “We have all done questionable things to survive if anyone knows that it’s me and the people I travel with.” They both settled back against the crate at their backs and silence held them captive for a brief moment. “These people you travel with, are they good people or bad people?” This time she traced Susan’s jawline with her finger, Susan closed her eyes, she was not used to being touched like this. She felt the young woman trace the outline of her cheek and she opened her eyes. She did not like to be touched, but when the woman stopped, she missed the feel of her skin. “Neither, but it depends on your interpretation of good and bad. They have done bad things, Miss. They get mixed up in things they shouldn’t, but they do what they need to, to survive.”

“Self-preservation can make people do monstrous things. I owe you all my life, so no matter what brought you here, I am grateful.” Susan reached up and tucked a stray piece of hair behind the girl’s ear, Florence couldn’t help but lean into her touch. “How did you end up here?” Florence had turned Susan’s own question back on her. Susan knew it was a question she was unable to answer at this time. Dutch would not appreciate anyone spilling their secrets, especially to someone they had planned to send on her way. She tried to say something, but Florence interrupted her, “I would rather you tell me nothing than a lie.” Susan smiled softly, the woman was quick and bright, “I am afraid I am not at liberty to discuss the ongoings of this camp with anyone from the outside.” Florence took the older woman’s hand in hers, “I know you are in trouble,” she motioned towards the marks that decorated the woman’s face, “And it would seem it is from both inside and out. I know I can’t stay here, and I also know I shouldn’t want to. But I hope you understand, as long as you are here, you are not safe.” Susan nodded absentmindedly; she knew the young woman was right. 

“As ridiculous as this may sound, I am tired. I know, truly absurd, given the state I have been in for the last four days. Would the lady permit me to sleep?” Susan laughed and shook her head. “By all means, Miss, settle yourself for a few hours. Do you need help?” Florence looked up sheepishly, “If you don’t mind.” Susan helped the woman settle into her bedroll, "Goodnight, Miss, Sleep well."


	5. Good and Bad, is never black and white

Soon after she had settled the other woman, Susan herself fell gently into a much more peaceful sleep. Both women slept soundly until morning, Susan woke abruptly to the sound of chatter beside her. She turned quickly in her bedroll and was shocked when she came face to face with Dutch Van Der Linde. “Ah, Ms Grimshaw, you’re awake. I was just introducing myself to the lovely Miss Taylor here.” Susan felt rage bubble up inside her, she felt terror gently nipping at its heels, the two in a battle for supremacy which was making her feel nauseous. “Good morning, Mr Van Der Linde. Good Morning, Miss.”

“My dear, you are lucky, I am not so sure you would still be with us, without this wonderful woman. And my dear Ms Grimshaw, you have outdone yourself.” Susan tried to get to her feet and as she did, Dutch stood, he loomed over her. She looked up at him to find his hand outstretched, her skin prickled with anger, she could not refuse him. She took his hand and he helped her to her feet, “You ladies must be hungry, please join me for breakfast, if you can.” Susan glimpsed at the younger woman, “I am not so sure that Miss Taylor is strong enough. The path out of this cave is not an easy one.” Florence was both grateful and sad, it had been so long since she had felt the air or smelled anything but this musty old cave. She longed to be outside. “Well, let me see what we can do about that. We have plenty of strong able body men, who could help Miss Taylor. I am sure you are looking forward to getting out of this cave.” 

Susan looked down at her again, “Would you like that Miss?” Florence smiled up at her, “I would like that very much, cher.” Dutch informed them, he would send someone to help and left. Susan called after him to send Abigail with some clothes, she couldn’t very well send that girl out in nothing but an old shirt. “Are you sure you are fit for this, Miss?” She crouched down beside the blonde woman, she pressed her palm against her forehead to feel for any lingering sign of fever. Florence closed her eyes as she felt the other woman’s touch. “I would like to get out of this cave, it’s been too long since I saw the sun. People turn mad without the sun.” Ms Grimshaw laughed, “You wait and see they will prove it someday.” This woman had some real funny ideas, “Well I don’t know about that, but you let me know if you feel unwell again or need to rest.” The young woman reached across and took her hand, she gave it a soft squeeze, “I will.” 

Abigail and Arthur came around the corner as she let go. “Good Morning, Ms Grimshaw.” Arthur bellowed jovially, “How can I be of service?” Susan swatted his arm, “Hush now, you great oaf. Good Morning, Abigail, dear. Now, Mr Morgan, I need you to help me bring Miss Taylor here, out of this cave.” He looked over her shoulder to the woman on the ground and saw for the first time that she was awake. He became a little shier, “Good Morning, Miss.” She recognised him the moment he rounded the corner with the other woman. Florence froze, she didn’t think she would ever see him again. “It is you.” Susan looked from Arthur to the woman, “You killed them.” They had all begun to panic, “You saved my poor Edward from ending up here.” 

The realisation hit Susan like a ton of bricks, it had been Arthur, the man on horseback. He was the one that had happened upon the Murfee’s that day. “I don’t quite know what you mean, Miss.” Fresh tears cascaded down Florence’s cheeks, “A while ago, you happened on something that I am sure looked like a robbery, Murfee’s were ransacking our wagon. My Edward, they stabbed him in the chest, but you stopped them from bringing his body back here. You stopped them from doing to him, what they have done to so many others. Thank you.” Arthur remembered the incident, he hung his head, the man she spoke of had one foot in the grave when he found him. Used the last of his energy to get Arthurs attention. “I am sorry, I remember your husband. I wish I could have happened upon you sooner.” Florence smiled sadly at him, “So do I. They say everything happens for a reason, but I have trouble seeing the reason behind a lot of things.”

“I didn’t know what to make of it at the time, but he gave me something…He wanted to give it to you, I didn’t have the heart to refuse a dying man. Figured it would give him some peace. I never thought we would meet, but here you are.” He reached into his bag and brought out his journal, inside of it was an envelope. “Here it is, I didn’t open it or nothing.” Florence reached out for his hand, not the envelope, “You are a kind man, Mr…” he looked down at the ground, “Morgan, Arthur Morgan.” She released his hand and took the envelope from him but did not open it. “Don’t you want to open your letter, Miss.” She held it to her chest, “It feels very final, this is all I have of him. I think I will keep it a while. Thank you again, Mr Morgan.”

Sensing the need for a change in the subject, Susan interjected, “Miss Taylor, this is Miss Roberts. We will help you dress. Mr Morgan, if you please…some privacy, wait around the corner.” Arthur tipped his hat towards the women, “Holler when you need me.” Florence saw the change in Ms Grimshaw’s demeanour now others were present, more authority but she guessed that in a camp full of men it was necessary. “The name’s Abigail, and boy are we happy to see you awake. I am real sorry about your husband. Same thing happened another woman in the camp, Mrs Adler, she lost her husband too, to the damn O’Driscolls.” Florence smiled at the younger woman, “Nervous Talker, huh?” Abigail looked a little embarrassed, Florence hadn’t meant to offend her. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Abigail, I’m Florence Taylor. And I have a habit of putting my foot in my mouth, so please don’t overthink anything I say, it was just an observation.” 

Susan and Abigail checked all her wounds, cleaned and rewrapped the ones that needed it and helped her dress, “I borrowed the skirt from Mary-Beth and the shirt is one of mine. I do hope they fit. I brought a needle and thread in case we need to take anything in for you.” They fit fine; they hung a little loose but only because she had lost a lot of weight during her captivity. Susan pinched the waistband of the skirt and placed a small stitch in the back so it would stay in place without being held. It was then it dawned on her, she had no idea what she looked like to these women, she figured she looked a fright. “I do hope no-one scares easily. It's just lucky you two haven’t turned in to stone just looking at me,” she joked as Susan called for Arthur to come back. “Trust us when we say you have nothing to worry about, this camp has seen much worse.” Abigail tried to reassure the woman. Considering her injuries, they had definitely seen worse, what with Sean getting his head blown off and Kieran, which didn’t even bear thinking about. “Your very kind, Abigail.” 

Arthur approached her cautiously, “Don’t worry big guy, I won’t break. Now I am ready to feel a breeze again, so let’s get a move on.” Arthur laughed, he liked her, she said exactly what she was thinking. He scooped her up with relative ease, he couldn’t believe how light she was. “You remind me of him, Edward.” She admitted softly, Arthur thought it best for both of them if he pretended he didn’t hear her. He was sure she didn’t say it for his benefit. As they approached the mouth of the cave, long strands of natural light began to stream past them, Florence was sure she could feel them bouncing off her face. Arthur took the final step out into the open of the camp, as he did a light wind whispered through her hair, she smiled. She took in the man carrying her without the shadow of the cave, he didn’t look so good. “Ah Miss Taylor, please come join us,” Dutch called out from the table in the middle of the camp. Arthur dutifully carried her across. Susan asked Abigail to grab her and Florence a bowl of whatever Pearson had prepared for breakfast, she happily obliged. 

Arthur placed the woman down on one of the crates at the table, “Will you be ok here?” she had been lying down for quite a while and the truth was she didn’t know. He took a step back and before she could reach out for him again, Susan slipped onto the crate behind her, Susan whispered in her ear, “Lean back against me, Miss. I got you.” Without giving it a second thought Susan wrapped her arm around the other woman’s waist to keep her steady. 

“Miss Taylor, please allow me to introduce you to our motley crew. This here is Bill Williamson to my right, then Javier Escuella, this strapping young man is Charles Smith, you’ve met Mr Morgan, Mr Pearson is busy at the moment, he’s our cook and this is…” Florence saw a hand appear out of the corner of her eye, “Micah Bell, Miss.” She accepted the handshake reluctantly, one look at that blonde moustachioed man and she instantly knew he was one to watch. He sneered at her, as she let go, his touch made her want to peel her own skin off. He did not introduce her to any of the women in the camp, who stood on the outskirts on patrol. 

Abigail arrived back with a bowl of Pearson’s breakfast for both Susan and Florence. “I trust that all of you will make our new guest welcome, please ladies eat.” They settled into an uncomfortable silence, Florence once again pushed around her stew. She leaned back further into the older woman and pushed the bowl of stew from her. “Not hungry, Miss Taylor?” She looked up at Dutch as he spoke again. “I figure you would have been famished.” She was not about to admit to the real reason she was refusing the stew, “I have not gone without food but I have had very little, my appetite is not as it used to be, I imagine it will be a while before it returns completely.” A look was shared between Micah and the camp leader and Dutch got to his feet, “If you will excuse us ladies, we have business to attend to.” Abigail stepped forward, “I hope it has something to do with getting John out of that prison before he hangs.”

Dutch turned to face the young woman slowly, he gently took her hands in his, “Miss Roberts, we have discussed this, we have got to wait for the right time. We go gallivanting in for John now and we might as well lead the law…” he faltered and he released the woman’s hands abruptly, for a brief second he had forgotten their present company. “We will discuss this another time, Miss Roberts. And I would thank you not to inform the whole world about our business.” 

Dutch chanced a glance over at Florence, she maintained eye contact with him. “Anarchy is order and government is a civil war,” everyone turned to stare at the young woman, “Do you think me dense, Mr Van Der Linde?” Dutch laughed, “She quotes Pierre-Joseph Proudhon.” She felt a slight pinch at her side, Ms Grimshaw gripped her tightly. “People do not end up in a place like this unless they are running from something.” Dutch pushed out his chest, “Did we not end up in the same place, Miss?” It was her turn to laugh, “I have been running my whole life, as I am sure you have too. It really is no surprise we wound up in the same place. People rarely react well when you refuse to play the hand dealt, even if they are the ones counting the cards and loading the dice. I know all too well what it is like to live in a world you feel you don’t belong in.” 

Florence was shocked that the silver-tongued outlaw had nothing to say so she continued, “My husband was a doctor, he taught me to treat people without prejudice, in life and medicine.” Dutch’s gaze never left hers, “Good and bad is never black and white. Trust me when I say, I would never judge you, any of you.” He looked at her with his steely stare, “Good to know, Miss Taylor. And your medical knowledge may prove useful. I would like to discuss this with you when we return.” He certainly wasn’t the kind of person to give much away. He left with the others and barked at Javier, Bill and Charles to take up the patrol spots around the camp. Which left her with Susan, Arthur and Abigail. The moment everyone dispersed a blonde-haired woman approached them, “Good Morning Sadie,” Abigail offered half-heartedly. “This is Miss Taylor, oh heck, I guess we should be calling you Mrs Taylor, I’m sorry.” Florence reached out for the brunette’s arm to stop her from rambling some more. “Miss is fine Abigail. Mrs just reminds me that Edward is not here anymore. Better yet call me Florence.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Florence. I am sorry about your husband.” Sadie was unsure of the full story but she understood the woman slightly better than anyone else at the table. Before Florence could reply her attention was redirected to Mr Morgan. “Arthur, I am heading to the boat now, meet me when you can.” Sadie’s eyes flitted from Abigail to Arthur, “What exactly are you two up to?” Susan spoke for the first time in a while, again Sadie’s gaze flitted from Arthur and back to Abigail, this time Abigail saw it to. “Are you going for John?” Sadie did not answer, she simply turned and began to walk away. “Sadie Adler, don’t you walk away from me. I am coming with you.” 

“Arthur, I will meet you at the boat.” The blonde woman called back over her shoulder, as she continued to leave the other woman’s questions unanswered. “Arthur, have you two lost your goddamn minds? Dutch does not want anyone breaking John out right now. And you think the two of you can break into a state penitentiary and walk out with John, or even alive for that matter?” Susan was fighting to hide the fear in her voice and failing miserably. Arthur reached down and took her hand in his, “I ain’t gonna let him swing because Dutch is dragging his feet. I’ll bring’em back safe, Susan, I promise.” Leaving Susan and Florence at the table Arthur went back to his tent, picked up his hat, mounted his horse and rode out.


	6. Nothing and everything, all at once

The women remained at the table, Susan's arm was still firmly wrapped around the younger woman’s waist and without thinking she had let her head fall onto Florence’s shoulder in frustration. Still, they did not speak. Another blonde woman crossed the camp in front of them, her hair was mousier than Sadie Adler’s, it seemed to match her personality. Florence could sense the woman was quite timid and could see she wanted to speak but her confidence failed her. She offered her a gentle smile instead. The rustle of her feet in the leaves had reminded Susan they were not alone in the cave anymore. She fought hard to hide a slight blush on her cheeks, she very rarely allowed herself to be vulnerable in front of anyone. She had played many roles over the years, but these people only saw her as one of three things, the callous ageing whore, the insufferable madam or the weathered, stubborn workhorse. They talked about her behind her back, hell they ridiculed her to her face. And because of that, the more they said it, the more she leaned into it. She became harder, more pointed and sharper. 

When she was busy, it kept the insecurities to a dull roar, as opposed to an infernal howl. “Well, Miss Taylor, I have sat around enough. You can rest in my tent, I will be close by, but this camp will not run itself.” Florence knew there was little she could say. She found the abrupt change in the woman’s demeanour unsettling; over the course of the morning she had watched as the walls around Susan Grimshaw were built brick by brick. Florence knew it was her way of hiding, but her blustering was interrupted when they were joined at the table by a third blonde. “Good Morning, Ms Grimshaw. I am under the strictest of instructions to make sure that arm of yours is cleaned and redressed.” The young woman paused, “Ms Roberts gave out the order as she chase Mrs Adler out of camp, asked Tilly to make sure the boy was ok too.” 

Susan tried to interject but she was cut off by the young blonde. “I’m Karen by the way.” She offered her hand and Florence shook it, “Florence, pleased to meet you.” With that, Karen turned her attention back to the older woman. “You know just last week I heard of a woman dying in Valentine from a papercut that got infected. So, we can do this the easy way or the hard way, I am fine with either. But as you know, I fight dirty.” This elicited an eye roll from Susan; however, she did sense some truth in what the girl was saying. This early in the morning Karen either still smelled of the booze from the night before or already had a bottle in her hand, but not today. “Don’t get any ideas, I agreed to this for purely selfish reasons. Ms Roberts has gone mad with power; I mean you give people an inch. Truthfully, I miss us, Ms Grimshaw. She don't yell at me like you do, there’s no spark.” Florence was deeply amused by the interaction between the two women, “See that look right there, I mean if they could kill, woo wee.” Susan threw her arms in the air, “Miss Jones if I agree to let you look at my arm, will you shut up?” Karen pretended to salute, “Yes Ma’am.” 

Susan pushed her sleeve up and Karen gently unravelled the bandages from around her arm. She had brought with her a damp cloth, the salve and fresh cloth for bandages. All the while Susan’s other arm never left Florence’s waist, it didn’t need to be there, Florence was lent against her. Still it was comforting for both women. “Burdock root is great, but if someone could gather in some yarrow, I could mix them and make a poultice for your bruises as well. It has excellent antiseptic and anti-inflammatory properties. It grows in wooded areas, should be easy enough to find.” Her hand wanted to brush the other woman’s cheek, but she imagined it would not be received well now. “Is that so? You some kind of medicine woman?” Karen asked, “No, not quite but my husband was a doctor and I learned a lot from him.” She cast her eyes downward. “Well alright. That’s you Ms Grimshaw. What does this yarrow look like?” 

“It grows in bunches, usually in patches of two or three plants and it has a beautiful bright red flower with five petals.” Karen nodded. “And you reckon it grows around here. I’ll have everyone keep an eye out for it, sounds like it might be a good thing to have on hand with this bunch. Mostly me. Perhaps, later I can have a look around.” Florence chuckled, but then an odd panic set in, “You shouldn’t go anywhere by yourself around here or stray too far from the camp.” The Murfee’s may have been weeded out of this spot but it did not mean they had been eradicated. “Don’t worry darlin’, we can hold our own.” Karen dismissed her concerns, “No offence intended, Miss. But I have been hunting all my life, I could shoot a sparrow through the eye of a needle at ten. Problem is you ain’t hunting them, their hunting you.” A chill ran through all of them, Karen didn’t look as confident anymore, “Oh how horrifying and duly noted.”

“Well, I cannot keep you from your duties any longer, although I wish I could be of some help.” Susan smiled at her; it was a beautiful smile, but it faded quickly as Karen opened her mouth. “Be careful what you wish for, darlin’. Ms Grimshaw barking orders is a re-occurring nightmare of mine, trouble is when I wake up, she’s there too.” This kind of comment was commonplace in the camp, but it felt different this time. Susan had watched Karen carefully as she tended to her arm, she was gentle and tentative, if she didn’t know any better, she would have said Karen cared. Susan was able to genuinely laugh off the comment, “Well, if I wasn’t surrounded by drunken fools, I wouldn’t need to yell as much, Miss Jones.” Karen bowed her head in defeat, “Touché, Ms.”

“If you are done, Miss Jones. I need to get Florence settled in my tent before I double-check all your work. Make yourself useful and fetch me Charles?” Karen scowled at Susan before she turned to leave, “I think I could walk,” Florence piped up. “Miss, I don’t think that is a good idea, I don’t think you should push yourself.” Florence turned herself slightly to face the older woman, “I think this is when we discover what happens when an immovable object meets an unstoppable force. I am more stubborn than I let on, but I would never attempt something if I wasn’t sure I could do it. And if Miss Jones would be so kind as to take my other side, then I will be fine. If not, I can’t fall that far, and you can say I told you so.” Karen laughed heartily, “I only understood about half of that, but I think I like you. You may have met your match, Ms Grimshaw.”  
Susan took her left and Karen supported her right, they hoisted her up on her feet. She was shaky but still capable. It was only a short walk across the camp to Susan’s tent, thankfully her legs did not betray her, and the two women set her down gently. “I am used to being carried to bed; it feels a little odd doing the carrying,” Karen joked, “I am sure it won’t be long until the tables turn again, Miss Jones.” Karen protested Susan’s comment, “I ain’t saying never, but also I ain’t touched a drop since yesterday.” The blonde’s divulgence had stopped Susan dead, she leant forward and felt the young woman’s forehead, “Miss Jones are you well?” She laughed as she did so, the expression on Karen’s face was priceless, Florence erupted with laughter too. “Two days of separation, Abigail is drunk on power, I am sober, and Ms Grimshaw has jokes.” Susan suppressed a smile, “Miss Jones, you and I both know that with the amount of alcohol you consume, one night without does not make you sober.” Florence thought the young woman was going to keel over, “Another one, my god, what a day to be alive.”

Florence had come to rest on the wagon behind her, Karen left, she assured her the other women would be over to introduce themselves. “They’re both too nosy for their own good, in fact I am surprised it’s taken them so long.” She turned back to where Ms Grimshaw had been standing to find the spot empty. She needn’t have worried though as she returned a few seconds later, “I am afraid to say that all Mr Pearson knows how to cook is stew, but I brought you some bread and cheese. I really need you to eat, dear.” She held out the bowl of food and her other hand presented a cup of water. “Just eat what you can. And holler if you need anything else. I brought you these, we don’t have many books in the camp, we lose more every time we move.” Florence smiled and accepted, “Not to worry, I am partial to a good romance novel every now and then.”

As soon as Susan handed over the books, she mentally admonished herself, she had just handed a pile of romance novels to a woman who lost her husband little over a month ago. “Those books belong to Miss Gaskill, I am not sure how good they will be, but hopefully it is better than nothing.” Florence thanked her again and then Susan left her. Florence set the book to the side and took a brief second to really look around her. The camp was lined with mile-high trees, their branches shook awake by a sturdy but refreshing breeze. They leaned over the camp, not oppressively but rather protectively like they too were shielding it from intruders. She could sense the suns determination to break through the scattered clouds, and she marvelled every time that it did. The most important thing was that she could feel life in her surroundings again. Beaver hollow was inevitably scarred by the atrocities that occurred there; the cave served as a painful reminder but one she did not have to return too. She was free.

For a long time, she sat with her face turned up towards the breeze, allowing her eyes to close and her other senses to re-invigorate themselves. She listens to the rustling leaves, the chirping birds, she was comforted by the incidental sounds made by the others in the camp, everything was so loud but only by comparison. After a while, she opened her eyes and in front of her stood a small boy, he was staring at her intensely. “What are you doing?” he asked with a spark of curiosity. “Just listening.” Florence smiled at him as she answered, and a grin spread across his face. “For what?” he still hadn’t broken eye contact with her. “Nothing in particular. And everything all at once.” He looked utterly dumb founded by her answer, “I don’t think I understand.” 

“I don’t think I explained it very well. Close your eyes and try to really listen.” He did just that, she chuckled as he strained to listen to the natural symphony that surrounded them. “What do you hear?” He replied and his eyes remained shut, “Birds,” she pressed him again. “And the river at the bottom of the hill and the trees,” she asked him one final time. “Well, I can hear Mr Pearson singing, which I wish I didn’t because he’s not very good and oh I can hear Miss Tilly calling my name.” Florence had been vaguely aware of a woman calling out a name, “Jack, where are you?” With his eyes still firmly closed Jack called back, “Over here Miss Tilly.” Florence looked up only to be blinded by an errant beam of sunlight that had broken through the clouds, she shaded her eyes with her hand and made out a woman coming towards them. “Jack, what are you doing? I am so sorry, he got away from me. He does that, a lot.” Florence attempted to reply to the woman, but she was cut off by Jack, “I’m just listening Miss Tilly, to nothing and everything all at once.” He was sharp as a tack this one, she had to fight from laughing. “It’s nice to meet you Miss, I am sorry we disturbed you. I’m Tilly.” Jack’s eyes shot open and he beamed down at her. “And I’m Jack.” 

“Well, Tilly, Jack, I am Florence. And trust me when I say, there is no need to apologise and the pleasure is all mine.” She didn’t think it was possible but the smile on Jack’s face grew even bigger. Jack regaled Tilly with all the noises he had heard when he closed his eyes, both women laughed at how animated he was. Then Tilly was called away by Karen. Florence reassured her Jack was more than welcome to stay with her, that she could watch him while she helped the other woman. “Do you like to read?” Jack enquired and she nodded. “Do you?” He looked down at his feet and scuffed the toe of his shoes along the ground, “Kinda,” he seemed sad. “I am still learning.” She offered him a smile, “Well I got nowhere to be and a lot of time to kill. How about we read together? It has been a while since I even seen a book, you could help me, and I could help you.” His smile returned; she could feel his tiny frame vibrate with excitement. “Do you have a favourite book?” He nodded enthusiastically, “Yes, Uncle Arthur got it for me.” She encouraged him to go and get it, he arrived back a few seconds later with the book in hand. 

She patted the floor beside her, but he plopped himself down in the space between her legs and leant back against her, which once again made her chuckle. “Well ok then, you’re a friendly one, aren’t you?” She got a look at the front of the book, it was a penny dreadful, Otis Miller and the Arabian Prince. “Do you want to start or will I?” Jack decided he would read first, he stuttered and got himself tongue-tied in the beginning. Then he fell into a comfortable rhythm after Florence assured him there was no reason to rush or panic about making mistakes. She helped him with some words here and there, but ultimately, he finished the book on his own. He asked her if they could read another, she agreed it was probably for the best, so they didn’t forget any words. He rushed off and returned with a handful of books this time. Halfway through the second book, Tilly returned, shocked to see the young boy so settled with the other woman.

He begged her to let him stay, Florence was happy to have him for company and it meant Tilly could focus on her chores. He had finished book two with confidence and moved on to number three when Florence caught him yawning. “How about I take over for a while?” She wrapped her arms around him in order to hold the book, so he could still see the words. She read out loud until she felt his little body sag against hers, he had fallen asleep. That was the exact moment Susan returned to check on her, she had finished helping Mr Pearson clean up from breakfast. Florence was still reading the book and unaware she was being watched. Susan observed the younger woman absentmindedly run her fingers through the little boy’s hair as he slept. She was transfixed, this woman had a natural and effortless charm about her. “Looks like someone has an admirer.” She spun around to find Tilly Jackson standing behind her, “I beg your pardon.” Tilly pointed towards the woman in question, “Jack, you should have seen him. It’s the happiest I have seen him in weeks.” Susan let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, “It has not been easy for that little boy. But much like Miss Taylor, he is resilient, I am not surprised he gravitated towards her.” 

Tilly went back to work and Susan lingered a little longer. Florence set down the Penny Dreadful she had been reading and reached out for one of the books that Susan had brought her. She opened the first page and to her surprise, the text was handwritten. She scanned the pages quickly, she felt guilty, this obviously belonged to someone in the camp. She assumed that the older woman lifted it by mistake, but she also didn’t want to stop reading. It certainly wasn’t as racy as Venus de Furs and not as dastardly as Cousin Bette, but there was a story and with a little finesse it could be a good one. Still, after two or three pages, she set the book aside, she didn’t want to invade the writers’ privacy. Florence was sure the owner would come looking for it eventually and looked forward to meeting them. She picked up one of the others and began to read it instead. Which became increasingly harder when the little boy slumbering in her lap reached out for one of her hands and wrapped it around himself. Each time she wanted to turn the page she had to set the book on the ground, Susan still watching, laughed quietly. 

This woman, what she had been through and here she was, gentle and kind. Susan couldn’t help but feel like they had met at exactly the right time, despite the circumstances, couldn’t help but feel she would bring some much-needed hope to their current situation. She shook the thought from her head and looked around her to make sure no one had seen how she had been staring.


	7. She Found The Woman Utterly Disarming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay, I have been struggling with a little writer's block. I really hope you are enjoying this. :)

She was headed in the direction of the ladies lodging when she laid eyes on Miss Molly O’Shea knelt over the laundry basin, “Do my eyes deceive me?” Molly looked up at her and rolled her eyes. “Don’t start woman, I just can’t stand being around him. I’ll do anything, just to…” Molly was silenced by Susan’s hand on her shoulder. “He headed out with Mr Bell a while ago, but we appreciate the help, Miss O’Shea. There is plenty to keep you busy, I will make sure of it.” The women were interrupted by the sounds of Mary-Beth searching through the wagon frantically. “Oh no.” The young woman overturned everything twice in a quiet frenzy, “Miss Gaskill, what on earth are you doing?” Mary-Beth spun around, she shied slightly, and a soft blush set in on her cheeks. “I am sorry Ms Grimshaw, but my book is missing.” As tough as these girls are, they pitch a fit over the smallest thing. “Oh, Calm down, Miss. I gave a few of your books to Miss Taylor to keep her amused.”

“No, Ms Grimshaw, my book, the one I’m writing. I had it this morning and now it’s gone.” Florence was vaguely aware of a small commotion, but she paid little attention to it, it was probably none of her business anyway. Suddenly Mary-Beth stopped her frantic searching and looked up as she realised what must have happened. “Oh no, Ms Grimshaw, you don’t think you gave Miss Taylor my novel, did you? No-one is supposed to read it yet.” Susan had to admit it was entirely possible, she had frequently seen the young woman scribbling away in the book, but she had no idea what it looked like.

Before she could answer the younger woman glided past her and over to where Florence was resting. “Excuse me, Miss. My name is Mary-Beth and I believe Ms Grimshaw may have lent you some books of mine.” She spoke very quietly, “Oh, you must be the writer. I am Florence.” Mary-Beth’s whole face blazed as red as a strawberry. “Oh no.” Florence placed the book she was reading on the ground and reached for the one the young woman really wanted. “I think this is what you are looking for.” The very embarrassed woman reached down took the book from Florence, she tucked it under her arm and turned abruptly to leave. “Miss,” Florence called after the woman. Mary-Beth stopped and slowly turned to face the other blonde, the blush still emblazoned across her face. 

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed.” Florence hesitated, “I mean it, I didn’t know what it was when I first picked it up. I hope you won’t be too angry, but I read a few pages.” Florence watched as the younger woman dropped her head into her hands. “I liked it.” Mary-Beth’s head shot up, “You did? Are you making fun of me?” The young blonde looked bewildered, “No, Miss, I would never make fun. It’s a little rough around the edges but I really did enjoy it. Is that so hard to believe?” Mary-Beth dropped her gaze again and began to shuffle awkwardly. “I don’t know, Miss. I never let anyone read my stories before. It’s just, well it’s silly really, I am not a writer, but I wanna be.” Florence smiled up at Mary-Beth, “Can I ask you a question?” Mary-Beth nodded eagerly, “Did you put pen to paper in order to create that? Then you are a writer, little darlin’. Mary-Beth relaxed her shoulders and she smiled, it was genuine and travelled all the way up her ears, her whole face lit up. “That is so kind. Thank you.”

“Do you write?” the younger woman asked, “I don’t. but my whole life I have devoured books like food.” The younger blonde woman took the book from under her arm and held it in front of her, “If I ever finish it, it’ll be a miracle. Sometimes I get stuck for days and my mind just goes blank. Karen says it’s because I used up all the words I know, she’s a little touchy about the reading and writing thing. Dutch and Hosea tried to teach her but she’s stubborn as an old mule.” Upon realising what she had just said, Mary-Beth glanced over her shoulder to make sure that no-one overheard her. “Please forget I said that Karen would kill me. She gets real embarrassed by it. Anyway, if I get stuck again, you reckon you could help me?” Florence beamed up at her, “The pleasure would be mine, little Darlin’” The young woman was blushing again, “I really appreciate it, now, I should get back to work before Miss Grimshaw comes over here.” 

Before returning to her book Florence’s eyes swept the camp again, she noticed Javier who had been guarding the front entrance return to camp. It was Karen who replaced him, she realised then she had no idea how long she had been sitting here. The breeze had picked up and it rushed through the trees with a little more urgency now, there was a chill in the air that caused her to shiver. The little boy in her lap was warm and as she felt her hand rise and fall with his chest, she was comforted. She allowed her head to drop back and lean against the wagon, as she closed her eyes and a yawn escaped her lips. Her ears soon perked up to a new sound, a distant clattering of horse’s hooves caught her attention, someone was returning to camp. The sound came closer and then stopped, she could hear the faint thud as the rider’s feet hit the ground. “Tilly Jackson, where is my son?” It was Abigail, there was a sadness to her voice. “Abigail, I didn’t think you would be back anytime soon, Jack’s fine. He seems to have taken a real shine to Miss Taylor.” She heard Tilly laugh, “Is that so, Miss Jackson?” Abigail replied suspiciously, “Go on, see for yourself.”

She was aware of the woman’s footsteps getting close and so she opened her eyes and straightened up. She came face to face with Abigail, who was currently shaking her head, “Do you know I struggle to get that boy to sleep at night, never-mind take a nap during the day?” She smiled down at Florence, “You gotta be some kind of magician or angel?” Florence returned the smile and laughed. “Oh, he just tuckered himself out reading.” The woman looked at her in shock, “You got him reading to? He ain’t touched a book since we lost Hosea. He taught Jack how to read, before he…” She trailed off. “Jack misses him a lot, they used to fight constantly over the reading thing, but I know he misses him and the books. I ain’t know how so I’m no use to him and his dad’s been in prison and he’s no use to no-one.” She threw her hands up in the air, “What must you think of us? As people, and me, as a mother. And his father, in prison, god it just all sounds so awful.”

The dark-haired woman bit her lip in an attempt to hold back tears, Florence patted the spot next to her. “No, Miss. I should really get to work; I can’t imagine Ms Grimshaw was very happy I left in the first place. I can try and move him; you must be so uncomfortable.” Florence patted the spot again, “Chores can wait, Ms Grimshaw will understand, and I may never return the boy. He is just the sweetest thing.” Reluctantly, Abigail took a seat beside the other woman, and Florence used her free hand to reach out for the Abigail’s. “I spent several hours with your son today and it has been entirely my pleasure. He is gentle and kind, curious, energetic, friendly, whip-smart and he made me laugh. We can only do our best, Miss Roberts and I don’t for a second think you would do any less than your best, for this boy. Everyone’s hardships are different trust me, I know, and I am no saint.” Abigail let go of her hand to wipe the tears from her cheeks, “I feel like such a bad mother sometimes.” 

She stared off across the camp, “I think that comes with the territory, I think most mothers feel like that at some point throughout their child’s life. From what I have seen you’re doing a great job because you care. You’re not a terrible mother. And I should know, the woman who gave birth to me was a dreadful mother, truly, a horrid woman.” Abigail couldn’t help but smile again. “As was mine. I just want better for Jack. You ever have any children?” Florence smiled at her but there was pain behind it, “No, Edward and I wanted to adopt. Edward was determined, he used to say, “all those lost little children will find home with us. Do you know how I know? Because you’re there and I never knew home until I met you.”

She sighed, “He used to joke that we would have so many children, we would form our own posse and re-invigorate the wild west. That we would have so many the whole world would think we were cracked in the head or at least, we would have one for every letter in the alphabet.” Edward had three brothers, but he was never like them, he passed the time with his nose buried in a book. He said he might as well have been an only child, his brothers detested him, and his father detested all of them. Florence was an only child; it was better that way. 

“Your husband sounds like quite a man.” Florence nodded, “He was wonderful, the likes of which I have never seen again.” A tear trickled down her cheek, “I am sorry, Miss. I didn’t mean to upset you.” She took the other woman’s hand gently again, “You didn’t.” Florence became aware of movement in her peripheral, she looked to her left and smiled as she noticed Susan’s approach. “Miss Taylor, you haven’t touched the food I brought you. You need to eat.” Her tone was hushed and stern but did nothing to conceal her genuine concern. In truth, Florence had forgotten the food was there. She quickly grabbed a chunk of bread and stuffed the whole thing in her mouth. Susan laughed and rolled her eyes, “I suppose you’ll want saving when you choke on that.” Florence shook her head and opened her mouth to reveal that she had eaten it. Then she broke off a piece of cheese and popped that in her mouth too, “Delicious.” 

“Oh Miss, didn’t your mother teach you not to speak with your mouth full.” Florence laughed, “Ms Grimshaw, as I was explaining to Miss Roberts here, I make it a point to never do what my mother taught me. She was a wretched woman and it pissed her off.” Susan turned her gaze towards the other woman. “Miss Roberts.” The younger woman got to her feet and wiped the residue of any tears off her face, “Ms Grimshaw, I was just getting up. How can I help?” Susan smiled softly at the other woman. “Nonsense, Miss. There ain’t a lot to do around here, the other girls and I have it under control.” Abigail thanked Susan but insisted on a job to do, said it would keep her busy, less time to think about Arthur, John and Sadie. “Since my son has decided that he takes naps now and seems quite taken with Miss Taylor here. I need something to keep my mind off things. I wanted to go with them, but Arthur and Sadie refused, I just hate not knowing.” Susan understood, she admired the younger woman’s strength. “I know Miss Roberts, why don’t you see if Mr Pearson needs a hand with anything. Failing that I am sure Tilly will help you find something.” Abigail nodded and left them. 

Susan watched the young woman leave. She had been so hard on her in the past, but Abigail Roberts was quite remarkable. She was resilient and dependable. She had withstood a lot in her short twenty-two years. She turned back to Florence just in time to see her shiver, “You’re cold, Miss.” Susan disappeared around the back of the wagon and reappeared with a thick woollen blanket. She knelt in front of the younger woman and Florence lent forward instinctively to allow the blanket to be draped over her shoulders. 

Susan felt the younger woman’s hot breath against her ear and her whole body flushed. Being in such proximity to the younger woman caused her heart to race. She quickly wrapped the woman in the blanket and pulled away from her again. In doing so, she came face to face with her, one look at the younger woman and she felt locked in her own body as two dark brown eyes stared directly back at her. She did not notice the woman move until her cold hand cupped Susan’s face. This time her thumb traced the scar on Susan’s left cheek. Florence couldn’t help herself; something drew her to the woman. Back in the cave, from the moment her fingertips first brushed against the older woman’s soft cheek, they seemed to miss the feel of her when she drew them back. Susan didn’t remember her breath catching in her throat until the little boy in Florence’s lap stirred. She pulled back even further from the blonde woman and finally took a breath. She looked down in time to see Jack’s smile fade from his face, he too stretched out his tiny little hand, but he traced the bruises along Susan’s jaw. “What happened Ms Grimshaw?” She took his little hand in hers and smiled, “Nothing to worry yourself about Jack.”

He pulled his hand back and looked up at the blonde woman he had fallen asleep against, “Did you sleep well little prince?” Jack nodded his head and let go of Florence’s hand, “Did mama come back?” The two women nodded, and Jack jumped to his feet, he scrambled to pick up all his books and took off across the camp. The women laughed as he came running back towards them, “Thank you for Reading with me Miss.” Before Florence could reply he ran off again in the direction of his mother. Much to Florence’s dismay Susan stood, muttered an excuse and then disappeared out of sight. 

She crossed the camp quickly and ducked behind the other wagons. She reached into the waistband of her skirt and pulled out her cigarette packet. She opened it and drew one to her lips, her hands shook slightly. She knew this feeling; it was familiar, but it had been a long time, so she was finding it hard to pinpoint. She found the woman utterly disarming. She drew in deep from the cigarette and shook the thoughts from her head, the last thing they needed was for her to be distracted.


	8. And if she doesn't wish to stay?

Unfortunately, distracted was all she could seem to muster. She stood on the edge of the cliff, looking out over the river below and she inhaled deeply from the cigarette between her fingers. Eventually, she got so lost in her thoughts again, she forgot about it. Though she was quickly reminded of its presence when the damn thing singed her fingertips. She dropped it quickly and brought her fingers to her lips, she tasted the ash on them. 

The taste was familiar, she remembered the night the Pinkertons had shown up in Lakay. A stray bullet hit one of the oil lamps and set the cabin on fire. She remembers the acrid smoke filling her lungs. And the fear, it had hit her like a ton of bricks, she could not move, it had been Miss Jones who dove to save her from the cascading bullets. They hit the floor hard and it had knocked the air out of her lungs. They had pressed their faces against the cold, damp floorboards, and above them, an inferno roared. Miss Jones had wrapped herself around her and Miss Gaskill, she recalled how tightly the younger of the two women had clung to her shirt. Tilly was with Abigail and Jack across the cabin, she shielded the boy and his mother. She will never forget the sound of Abigail trying to soothe her son as they were engulfed in a tidal wave of metal and flames. She had thought they would die that night.

Before that was Shady Belle, the damn O’Driscolls ambushed them after mutilating that poor boy, Kieran. She had ushered those who were outside in, as bullets flew past them. One had clipped her ear. The hot bullet had almost cauterised the wound as it made it. That godforsaken house had so many holes in it afterwards it looked like a damn honeycomb. And Dutch hadn’t the sense to move them before he went off to hit the bank in Saint Denis. Thankfully Mrs Adler had got them out of there before the Pinkertons had descended after the bank job inevitably went south.

Susan had watched as every home they built together was torn apart, obliterated. Bit by bit, their family was being exterminated, wiped out like bugs. And those that lived were ghosts, no connection to the outside world, no idea how to live outside the confines of the gang and no one to miss them. All because of Dutch’s grand plan, a plan fuelled by a deep-seated need for vengeance, which he called justice. A plan warped by one mans greed, the very thing he had been fighting against, the rapacity of mankind. He was a fraud and it showed. Dutch had always been a vain man, who had always taken pride in his appearance but as his delusions consumed him, he became twisted and somewhat dishevelled.

She was snapped from her thoughts as two strong hands gripped her forearms, “Susan.” She could see the concern awash the younger woman’s face, “Jeez, you were miles off.” Karen had not yet released her, she watched as the colour drained from the older woman’s face. “Maybe you should have a seat, Ms Grimshaw.” The blonde woman pulled her in the direction of a large rock and pushed her to sit down on it. “You ain’t look so good and I am sure I ain’t ever seen you so quiet. You’re kinda scaring me.” Her mind reeled, she had wasted a lifetime on one mans ideals, just to watch him abandon and distort them for his own selfish agenda. Up until this moment she had deluded herself into thinking they could escape, but he wasn’t going to let that happen. Dutch only cared about one thing, himself. He viewed himself as a messiah of sorts and needed followers to further his cause. Those who perished along the way were just collateral damage, a sacrificing of the many to further his sanctimonious crusade. 

The woman in front of her looked terrified, “No need to look at me like that, Miss Jones. I gotta little dizzy is all,” She lied, the other woman knew but went along with it. “Ok, well go easy, won't ya?” She offered the woman a soft smile, Susan was grateful Karen had taken her at her word. “I came to tell you that Dutch is back along with Micah. Never far from each other these days, are they?” Susan glanced around to ensure they were alone, “You know every time he leaves camp; I pray someone strikes him down, but sure as shit, the bastard returns. He ain’t bring nothing but trouble with him, he’s a goddamn snake.” Susan didn’t disagree with her Micah did appear to be a major catalyst in the gang’s demise. Before either woman could speak again, Dutch rounded the woman’s lodging, headed in their direction. “Ah Miss Jones, Good Afternoon. And Ms Grimshaw, the very woman I needed to speak to.”

They both greeted him and then Karen excused herself reluctantly, sensing she was not welcome. “Susan, we need to talk about our guest.” She should have known this conversation was coming, Dutch got twitchy around strangers, although only when he didn’t invite them in. “Of course, Dutch, what about her?” Dutch took a seat on the rock that Susan had previously occupied and lit a cigar. “She is much improved, but I think we both know we can’t let her go.” Susan blanched, that rat bastard, she would eviscerate him if he harmed so much as a hair on that woman’s head, “Best we keep her close, don’t want her running off, figuring out the bounty on our heads and sending the law down on us. We can use the medical skills she professes to have, which I promised to speak to her about. I will talk to her about staying.” He lifted his hand and took a hold of her chin, “But in case there is any doubt, best you convince her.” He twisted her face, to get a better view of his handiwork and he pressed his thumb into the already bruised skin and Susan winced. The man that stood in front of her was a stranger, he was weak, paranoid and a coward, frightened of his own shadow.

“And if she doesn’t wish to stay?” she asked defiantly. “Oh, it is in her best interest, Ms Grimshaw, you and I both know that. You can be quite persuasive when you put your mind to it.” He got up from where he was seated and headed back towards the main camp when he noticed that Susan was not following, he turned to face her again. “Are you coming, Ms?” Susan stepped closer to the dark-haired man, “You’ve never had trouble talking to women Dutch, I trust you don’t need me to hold your hand.” Her sudden confidence surprised even her, “I will talk to her if you can not convince her.” Dutch marched back towards her, “See that you do.” 

He stormed off, Susan’s hand flew to her chest as she inhaled deeply, her whole body shook. She could feel the sting of tears behind her closed eyes. She admonished herself for antagonizing the man the way she had, he was volatile, and her behaviour was reckless. The truth was she could not bear watching him with Florence, another innocent he planned to lure into his spider web of lies. From the moment, that young woman woke up she had wished they met under different circumstances. That only increased as she had gotten to know the woman more, Susan was born with natural protective instincts, in the past, she had promised to obliterate anyone who threatened her family. Florence wasn’t family though; they had just met. She lit another cigarette, she felt her lip quiver and tears slipped slowly down her cheeks, what a mess they had made.


	9. You are by far the most compelling

She had avoided returning to the camp for long enough. She stamped out the cigarette, wiped the damp from her cheeks and ducked between the ladies wagon and John’s tent. Tilly and Mary-Beth were seated under the canopy of their lodging, the blonde woman was scribbling away in that book of hers and Tilly was eating. She noticed Karen’s approach out of the corner of her eye, though her attention was directed straight ahead. Dutch was towering over Florence, he turned in time to see her and she stilled. “Can I have your attention for a moment.” He called out to those present in the camp. “I am happy to announce that after asking Miss Taylor to stay with us, she has graciously accepted. Once she is back on her feet, she will be providing her much-needed medical expertise. I trust that you will all do your best to make her feel welcome.” He never broke eye contact with Susan, the guilt she felt was almost unbearable. She had nursed the woman back from death’s door, but she had not saved her life, she realised now it was a mere stay of execution.

“I hope she knows what she is getting herself in for.” Karen remarked, “I think you and I both know she does not Miss Jones, but what choice did she have.” Karen scoffed; the older woman was right. “None, like the rest of us. Dutch always gets what he wants, right? How long before he pursues her to get a rise out of Miss O’Shea?” Susan felt an instant pang of jealousy, Dutch did seem quite taken with the woman, but she wasn’t quite prepared to dissect why that bothered her so much. “Miss Jones, I doubt Miss O’Shea will be terribly troubled by it, now get back to work.” 

She moved hesitantly towards the other woman when a noise behind her grabbed her attention. She noticed Abigail rush forward out of the corner of her eye, then she looked back to the spot at the top of the hill. Sadie appeared over the crest of the hill and to her relief, there on the back of her horse was John Marston. She glanced back to the hill again to see Arthur Morgan riding behind them and she could have kissed them all. These days it seemed like Mrs Adler and Mr Morgan were the only ones who had not lost sight of their priorities, their loyalty to the gang and its members was unparalleled and to think Sadie Adler had been with them for less than a year. Abigail rushed to greet them she threw her arms around John, the moment his feet hit the ground, “You brought him back to me.” Susan made her way over to them and Sadie slid off her horse, “we told you we would.” Susan couldn’t help but laugh at Mrs Adler, she had never met anyone so nonchalant. “It is good to have you back, son.” 

“John, what are you doing here?” Dutch’s voice rang out from behind them, Florence watched curiously from where she sat. She noticed the venom in the older man’s voice, “It’s good to see you too, partner.” John stalked closer to the aggressor, “I meant, I hadn’t sent for you yet.” Arthur stepped forward, “I went.” Florence was sure the dark-haired man was close to erupting. “But I said,” Arthur edged closer to the other man with calm confidence. “Yeah, I know what you said.” He closed in, “I felt different.” She looked around to see how others were reacting, Mary-Beth chewed the inside of her mouth nervously, Karen fought hard to hide her disgust and Micah who had not taken his eyes off John, sneered. “Is that so?” Arthur defiantly squared up to the older man, she sensed he knew it would rile Dutch up. “And when springing John brings the law down on all of us. What then, Arthur?” Florence had seen enough to deduce that Dutch, though he professed to be a benevolent leader, was more of a malevolent dictator. “Well, I guess we will have another fight on our hands.”

The older man gesticulated wildly, “Loyalty, Arthur. It ain’t…” Dutch subverted his gaze, “I had a goddamn plan.” Most beasts, when backed into a corner, will retreat or lash out, Florence wondered which one it would be. He looked to the people surrounding him, he recognised how bad it looked. “John,” he begged, “John, you are my brother, you are my son. And I was coming for you.” The snarling beast had been tranquilised, his toxic hubris ebbed, “They were talking of hanging me Dutch.” The young man seethed, Abigail took a step forward, Susan gripped her arm to hold her back and John placed a protective arm in front of her. Dutch knew he was beaten, there was nothing else he could say but his pride would not let him leave without having the last word, “They was talking,” he backed away with Micah nipping at his heels, “They was talking and now they may come and hang us all.” The older man and his lapdog disappeared into the big white tent near the cave's entrance. 

Abigail took John by the arm and pulled him in the direction of his tent, Susan could feel the anger emanating off Arthur. She moved to his side and places a hand on his arm, “Thank you for bringing them home, Mr Morgan.” He threw both arms up in the air and moved back towards his horse, “Home, that’s real nice Ms Grimshaw. Is that really what I brought them back too?” He mounted the horse and took off out of camp again, she took no offence, she knew he needed space to clear his head. She worried about him, in the past he would disappear for days at a time, but it troubled her more now that they had multiple targets on their back. 

As she tried once again to make her way towards Miss Taylor she was intercepted by Mrs Adler. “You seen Arthur, Ms Grimshaw?” In all the time Mrs Adler had been with them, they had rarely interacted with each other. Sadie never had to be told what to do, she pulled her own weight around the camp and she was not some little girl Ms Grimshaw needed to manage. “Think he needs some time to cool off, Mrs Adler. He’ll be back when he’s back, you know Arthur.” The woman nodded in response, “I don’t blame him, wish I had gone with him.” Susan laughed, Sadie had a dry sense of humour, that took a little while to get used to. “You would think someone died, miserable bastards. We brought their brother back and all people wanna do is complain.” 

“Tensions are running high, Miss. Hell, I was ready to string the two of you up this morning when I found out what you had planned, we could have lost all three of you to the hangman’s rope. But I am glad you half-wits made it out alive. Thank you, Sadie, the others might not say it, but I know they are grateful.” Sadie laughed, “Alright Ms Grimshaw, I’ll leave you to it then.” Leaving her to continue on to her own lodging, where she found Florence petting Cain, the camp dog that just showed up one day. She noticed the empty plate by the woman’s side, “Are you hungry, Miss?” The young woman shook her head, “Can I get you anything?” Florence smiled up at her, “As a matter of fact Ms Grimshaw, I think I have done enough sitting to last a lifetime, will you walk with me? And by walk with me, I mean help me, please, I will lose my damn mind if I have to sit here much longer.” Susan laughed and shook her head. She wasn’t sure it was the best idea and yet she found herself unable to say no to the woman. “Sure, Miss. As long as you feel able.” 

She helped Florence to her feet, her gait was a little unsteady, to begin with, and Susan wrapped her arm around the younger woman’s waist. “Where to, Miss?” Florence shrugged. “You pick the direction and I will follow. Well I mean obviously…it ain’t like I have a choice.” Susan rolled her eyes, “You are a fool.” Florence feigned offence at the comment, but then she leaned in close to Susan and whispered, “I am, but secretly I think you like it.” The colour on Susan’s cheeks deepened and she stumbled over her words. “Shall we?”

The younger woman nodded and slowly but surely, they moved in the direction of the horses. “Now, who is this beauty?” She moved from Susan to lean on the hitching post nearest a beautiful white Arabian, “Oh that’s the Count, he belongs to Dutch, you best not bother with him, Miss. He is an ornery one.” Of course, Florence did not listen. But to Susan’s surprise, the bad-tempered beast nuzzled the hand Florence stretched out towards him. “Well, they do say that animals take on the personality of their owners, don’t they, but I ain’t scared of you, handsome.” She leant closer to the horse, “Or your owner for that matter.”

“Well isn’t that something, I have seen that goddamn horse bite and kick people for even looking at him wrong,” Florence asked her about the other horses, one by one she pointed them out and named them and their riders. The final horse was an ageing girl in the back, with a dark charcoal coat and hair. “This last one is Old Belle, she belongs to Karen.” Without hesitation, the horse gravitated toward the younger woman and she stroked its muzzle. Susan reached out and petted her too, Old Belle was a sweet girl. 

"What made you change your mind, Miss?” Susan remembered a conversation they had in the cave, Florence did not even look up from the horse, “Would you have me leave?” The older woman’s hand stilled, “From this place, yes.” Florence had turned to face her now, “And you?” Susan’s heart thumped wildly against her chest, “I can’t be the reason you stay here.” Florence smiled, “You are not the only reason.” She reached up to tuck a stray hair behind the woman’s ear, “but you are by far the most compelling.” Most of Susan’s adult life had been void of tenderness, as the younger woman withdrew her hand, it brushed against Susan’s cheek and she closed her eyes. She had known the calloused hands of farmers, the scarred hands of gunslingers and the rough, demanding hands of many Christian men but she had never felt a touch as soft as Florence’s. Even Thomas, though his manner was gentle, his palms had grown course from the horse’s ropes.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Miss.” She bit back. It was her default. She had winced at her own tone when the words left her lips. Florence did not protest or take offence. “Give me time and I will prove it.” She took Susan’s hand in hers, her thumb glided across the back, but she could tell the conversation as over and she released it. Susan would not look at her, her eyes remained fixed on the horse in front of them, her gaze was stern and hard, she had not meant to upset her. They fell into an uncomfortable silence, for both women it felt like an eternity. Florence couldn’t stand it anymore, “Can you walk me back, Miss?” Susan still refused to make eye contact or speak, she simply nodded. They made their way back to the wagon and once again Susan’s arm had snaked around the younger woman’s waist, Florence could feel the other woman's fingertips pressing gently into her skin. Despite how they were leaving things, she could have sworn the woman was holding her tighter than before.


	10. Enlighten Me

On their way back they came across Mary-Beth, “There you are. Well, look at you up on your feet. Either of you care to join the other ladies and I for a drink?” Both women would be lying if they said they weren’t in need of one. “I would love to, how about you Ms Grimshaw?” Susan nodded and they followed the young blonde back to her wagon, where they found Tilly, Karen, Sadie and Abigail waiting for them. Ms Grimshaw had helped her to sit on the flatbed under the canopy and then took a seat on a crate beside her. “Miss Roberts, where is John?” Susan was shocked to see Abigail with the others, “God knows, Dutch summoned him and despite everything he scurried off quick, like a good little boy. I swear the men in this camp ain’t got a spine to share between them, ‘cept maybe Arthur.” The women all laughed, Abigail was a little drunk already and she rarely allowed herself anymore because of Jack. “What’s so funny?” there was a gentle slur to her words, “Abigail Roberts, you have lost the ability to hold your liquor,” Karen teased as she sat empty-handed. “And you Miss Jones, have become an awful bore.” 

The women erupted in laughter once more, as Karen scowled at Abigail. Susan handed Florence a bottle of beer as the young brunette spoke again. “I might be a little drunk, but I am a lot right. And on top of being spineless, those men are thicker than molasses.” She had always been outspoken, and it had often gotten her into trouble. “I don’t think it only applies to those in this camp, Miss. I think it is the species as a whole,” Florence interjected and Abigail scoffed, “Oh please, says the woman whose husband sounds like something out of a fairy-tale or one of Miss Gaskill’s ridiculous romance novels.” The other women were shocked that Abigail would bring up the poor woman’s dead husband like that and Mary-Beth looked annoyed because she had insulted her books. “I suppose I have painted a rather idyllic portrait of Edward. And he was a good man, but in spite of being the smartest person I know, he also had the least common sense, not to mention he was pig-headed if we argued he could go days without speaking to me and he was terrible at apologies.” The nervous look on the faces of the others began to soften as she spoke, “And another thing, he couldn’t sit still. If he was indoors for more than twenty minutes for any reason other than treating a patient, it was like he had ants in his goddamn pants.” They laughed as she told them about a time when they were further east and he had surprised her with tickets to the theatre. “We weren’t seated more than fifteen minutes and he had pissed me off so much, I told the usher I did not know the man and that he was bothering me, then I had him removed from the theatre.” The women were creased over laughing, “No you did not?” Mary-Beth almost snorted her drink back out through her nose. “The hell I didn’t, he laughed the whole way out. And I enjoyed the show in peace.” 

She looked to Susan and found her laughing too, it pleased Florence to see the woman much more relaxed than before. “What’s it like being on a real date with a man? Assuming you have had more successful outings than your trip to the theatre.” Florence laughed off Tilly’s question and took a sip of her beer, but then she realised everyone had gone quiet and when she looked up, she saw all eyes on her. “Oh, ladies, regardless of what the books say, dating ain’t any man's strong suit. Edwards idea of a date was dragging me into the woods to sit in a tent for three days, so he could hunt.” The women rolled their eyes, she did not mean to shatter any illusions they had, “All I want is for a good man to ask me out and I ain’t finding him here.” Florence leaned over towards the young woman, “Can I offer you some advice, Miss Tilly?” The woman nodded eagerly, so she took her by the hand and looked her dead in the eye, “Want more for yourself, if he accepts that, then you’ll know he is a good man. As hard as it is to imagine with the way they treat us sometimes, you are all worth far more than the value any man places on you.” 

Her advice had garnered a genuine smile from the women that surrounded her. “What about you Mrs Adler?” Everyone went quiet for a second time; Mrs Adler hadn’t been all that forthcoming about her husband. She had spent the first few months with the gang breaking her heart over Jake and it meant the other women were too scared to broach the subject with her. They were surprised to hear Mrs Adler chuckle, “We lived in the middle of nowhere at the top of a mountain, Miss Taylor. The farthest we travelled for a ‘date’ was to the bedroom. Now if you will excuse me, I think it is my turn on patrol.” The other women were taken aback by Sadie’s unexpected admission, “Well, that sounds like my kind of date,” Karen yelled after her, as she lit a cigarette. Upon seeing her do so, Susan removed hers from the waistband of her skirt and she offered Florence one with a smile. Florence declined, “No thank you, Miss, I don’t smoke.” She could see from the expression on her present company’s face, that they found that odd. “You don’t smoke, everyone smokes,” Karen commented indignantly.

“I suppose I am the odd one out and you can call me crazy but one of these days, they are going to tell us smoking is bad for you.” Once again, a laugh rippled throughout the group. “Mark my words ladies, I will happily say I told you so when it happens.” Susan had been very quiet throughout the whole conversation, “Who was the last person to ask you on a date, Ms Grimshaw?” Susan took a large swig from her bottle and grimaced, “Uncle.” Florence thought every single woman was going to die laughing at Susan’s response to Tilly’s question. “Worst part is you nearly said yes.” Karen had overheard the conversation between the two of them, the older woman had seemed so human at that moment. And although Susan would never admit it, the foolish old man had hurt her. “Well, excuse my moment of weakness, it has been a while since anyone even bothered to ask, Miss Jones.” Karen looked like a scolded child. “Yeah but Uncle, he would have to be the last man on earth, heck the last living thing on earth before anyone should have to suffer through a date with that smelly old bastard,” Abigail blurted, the others looked to Susan and then Karen spoke again, “You can do much better than Uncle, Ms Grimshaw.”

“Have you met Uncle yet, Florence?” Abigail asked, “I don’t think I have had the pleasure.” She scoffed, it wasn’t exactly a pleasure to meet Uncle, “You would know, mainly because you can smell him before you see him. He’s a lazy parasite that invested the camp and now we can’t get rid of him. He can often be found sitting around in his own piss and shit.” Tilly and Karen stifled a laugh and the younger blonde turned towards Abigail, “Christ, Abigail Roberts you are a mean drunk.”

Abigail had thrown her hand over her mouth as soon as the words left her lips, “I didn’t mean nothing by it, Ms Grimshaw, that man just makes me mad, I know what he did that day back at Clemens Point too, rat bastard.” Susan smiled at the younger, highly intoxicated woman; she was somewhat embarrassed, but she was trying very hard not to take it out on everyone else. “I know, Miss Roberts. Just pray you aren’t alone at my age; beauty doesn’t last, and men are fickle.” Florence scoffed causing everyone’s heads to whip in her direction. “You disagree with me, Miss Taylor?” Susan stared at her very intently, “Thoroughly, Ms Grimshaw.” Then she regarded the older woman as her demeanour changed from embarrassed to haughty derision. “Ok, well enlighten me.”

Susan noticed the young woman’s confidence diminish slightly, “Our idea of beauty will always be subject to fickleness. Our bodies will change over and over as we grow and age, the greatest gift we can give ourselves is to witness our own beauty and demand the world changes to see it too. It never crosses our mind to be grateful for what we have, instead, we berate ourselves for something we have no control over, time. I am utterly baffled by the notion that a woman’s beauty is intrinsically linked with her age and it only degrades as the years press on. These are notions of men, a species thicker than molasses, so why do we hold their belt to our own backs? We are scarred, in perpetuity flawed and that is what makes us irrefutably beautiful. Men have fought hard to keep us under their thumb and perhaps their greatest triumph is the idea that they become more distinguished with age and we wither.” Florence chanced a glance at the women around her, they were clearly disquieted but completely enthralled.

“Do you really believe all that?” Abigail hiccupped, “You make it sound like there is more out there for us, but there isn’t, not for women like us anyway. We are hardly the marrying type. Jobs are for men; education is for men and even sex,” Florence gawked at the women as they all nodded their heads in agreement with the young brunette. “And you don’t seriously believe that? Women can be more now than they ever could, writers, professors, scientists, doctors and there is only more to come. The thing that inhibits us most is wealth but that should not dissuade us from trying. But most of all, I am disappointed that you have, at such a young age given up on your own pleasure. Sex is important and it is not just for men to enjoy; else it would be a solo performance.” She threw her arms up into the air, “I will concede that very few men care to please a woman, but it is not because they are incapable, it is because they are selfish. And why in the hell would you not be the marrying type?”

The women all averted their gaze, “There ain’t many men who would wanna marry a working girl, Miss.” Mary-Beth looked completely dejected, Florence wasn’t all that surprised by the confession. Although, she was saddened as the young woman hung her head in shame, insinuating Florence would judge her harshly for her occupation. “Well Miss, their loss. If I was a man, sure as shit, I would rather marry a working girl than some virgin maid. They are a lot more fun and guaranteed to know what they're doing.” She shot the young woman a wink, Mary-Beth smiled and shook her head. “You got some funny ideas, Miss. But I swear I could listen to you all day.” Tilly stood and handed everyone another beer, “It doesn’t bother you, Miss? I mean it bothers most people.” she asked sheepishly as she took her seat beside the oldest blonde. Florence reached across and took the young woman’s hand in hers but looked to every single woman as she spoke, “We use what we are afforded in order to survive, you will never find judgement with me. All I ask is the same in return. Also, I find it entirely absurd that men can pay for sex with a different woman every night but the woman who is paid to sleep with a different man is vilified. Surely, they are the same thing. The only difference is that women have the sense to charge for it.”

They all fell silent, their growing intoxication only just hitting them, until Karen spoke up again, “I have to agree with Mary-Beth, you ain’t talk like anyone I ever met before, but you can be sure I wanna hear some more. Like, if your husband cared to please you?” Karen let out a deep belly laugh as the other women’s eyes bugged out of their heads and Florence chuckled. “Miss Jones,” Susan scolded and swatted the younger woman, “What? You’re telling me you ain’t curious?” The older woman was very clearly flustered with the situation, she didn’t want to know. The other four had leaned in closer in anticipation for the woman’s answer, “No, Miss Jones he did not.” Confusion splashed across the faces of the women who surrounded her. “But all that stuff you said.” She knew exactly what she had said, “You said sex isn’t just for men and I shouldn’t give up on my own pleasure,” Abigail narrowed her eyes on the woman. “Yes, I did. Sex isn’t just for men and no one should give up their own pleasure. But alas, Edward and I were married for 15 years and never even shared a bed.”

This woman baffled them, “Edward and I shared a purely intellectual connection, we fulfilled each other mentally and emotionally, but not physically.” Karen pinched the bridge of her nose, it felt like the woman was speaking in riddles, “But you said sex was important.” Florence laughed again, “Yes, I did, very important.” Mary-Beth had sprawled out on the ground, completely flummoxed by the conversation. “But you’ve never had sex.” Florence took another large swig of beer, “No, I said I never had sex with my husband.” Tilly was deeply bewildered by the whole thing, “Meaning?” Florence rolled her eyes, “Meaning we sought out others to care for our pleasure. Also, sometimes it is easier to care for your own pleasure.” Susan drained the bottle of beer in her hands, as a suffocating heat rose up from her toes.


	11. I promise I will not hurt you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay, I started a new job and it has taken up a butt load of my time. However thanks to the impending doom that Coronavirus has unleashed on us, I am now on temporary lay off and will have copious amounts of time to write for the foreseeable. Always a silver lining I guess! Really hope you enjoy, especially Apple_Bottome_Beans!! :)

These women were no strangers to sex, but the idea of sex for one’s own enjoyment was a novel concept. A working girl’s entire purpose was to ensure the satisfaction of a paying customer, they were rarely offered the opportunity to enjoy the act. Their clientele was rough and callous, and they did not afford the women any niceties or care. Many considered them goods, bought and paid for and therefore what happened to them did so at the buyer’s discretion. All of the women fell silent, each of them taking the time to really contemplate what Florence had insinuated. 

Their encounters with the opposite sex were innumerable, not one of them dared to keep track at this point and most of them had made a lasting impression for the wrong reasons. Still there were a handful of fleeting dalliances the women could look back on with some fondness. Karen thought of Sean, Tilly remembered her time with Jacob Foreman, before his brother turned him against her, Mary-Beth teared up slightly as she was reminded of Kieran and Abigail’s thoughts drifted to John. Each of these men had shown them kindness, that should not be confused with love, they were simply a distraction from the loneliness of life on the road.

Susan’s start in life had been different from the other women, she had known the love of a good man and it was his tragic death that had led her down this difficult path in life. “And your husband was ok with that?” Florence smiled softly as she turned to face the younger mousy blonde. “Yes Miss Gaskill, we had an arrangement. As strange as that may seem, I know we are all far too familiar with the idea that men can stray with little repercussion, while on the other hand women are expected to be faithful and devoted to their spouse without exception. It was different for Edward and me, we did not do anything with the intention of hurting one another, we did not feel threatened by the other persons sexual needs, we simply embraced it because ultimately we wanted the other to be happy. We were open and honest with each other from the beginning, we were not attracted to each other sexually, but we had an unparalleled affinity for each other, I loved him dearly.” 

“We met some women in Rhodes a while back. They were protesting for women’s rights to vote. You remember, Karen?” Mary-Beth interjected, “The way you talk, it reminds me of them. I mean I am sure if you spoke to them about all this sex stuff, they’d probably keel over on the spot but the rest of it, about education and jobs, it all sounds real similar.” Karen nodded and looked straight back to Florence, she seemed very keen on hearing the older woman’s response. “I met those women too, Miss Gaskill. Edward and I passed through Rhodes on our way to Annesburg. I spoke with Ms Calhoon the night before she died. That town, something wasn’t right there, to begin with, but…” Florence became flustered at the memory, “They shot that poor woman in her bed and for what? All she wanted was something more for us, as women, but the cost of that was her life.” She placed her empty beer bottle on the ground, “My god I had no idea, that poor woman,” Florence could see that the other women were shocked to hear about Ms Calhoon’s demise. “I am nothing like those women, Miss. Yes, of course, I want more for us in this life than the cycle of daughter, wife and mother. I want the world to stop seeing us as less than, I want us to be afforded the same education and opinion as men, but most of all I want us to be safe and free from violence.”

Florence had once again enthralled those in her company. “Tell me, what good is the right to vote if there are no women left to make use of it?” She sighed heavily, “There has to be a better way, or we will only continue to lose more great women like Ms Calhoon, the driving forces behind the whole movement.”

The mood around the wagon had changed significantly, it wasn’t sombre, but the gaiety had fallen into abatement. Karen covered a yawn with the back of her hand, Mary-Beth had lay back down on the ground and stretched lazily and Susan swayed slightly on the spot, she was exhausted. Without announcement Florence slowly began to push herself to her feet, she stopped halfway and leant in towards the older woman. She kneeled on one knee now, Florence reached out and laid her hand gently on the other woman’s thigh to steady herself. Susan’s eyes flew open, as Florence used her thigh as an anchor and pushed herself up into a standing position. “I do believe I have rattled on enough for one evening, now I think we all need our rest.” The women around her nodded and got to their feet as well. 

Abigail bid them all goodnight and stumbled off in the direction of the tent she now shared with John. Mary-Beth approached Florence cautiously before wrapping her arms around her in a tender embrace, “That is the most fun we have had in a long time, Miss. Thank you, I am very glad you’re here, you make things feel different.” Florence squeezed her gently before releasing the other woman, Tilly and Karen placed a hand on her arm and bid her good night. Florence then turned to Susan and held out her hand, which the older woman accepted gingerly. Susan got to her feet and Florence did not let go, instead, she allowed the other woman to take the lead as they walked back to Susan’s lodgings hand in hand. They walked slowly and in silence, it was the first few steps that Florence had taken unassisted. 

Susan stopped at the camp table and looked to her lodging. To her relief she found the lodging empty, she had been forced to share the space with Strauss, Pearson and at times Trelawney, none of them were present now though. “Sit, Miss. I have to redress those wounds.” Florence nodded and took a seat, “And you’ll let me redress yours?” she touched the older woman’s arm gently and Susan conceded with a nod, before leaving to get the supplies. She reappeared moments later with everything and took the seat closest to the young blonde. The worst of her wounds were located on her abdomen; they were intended to cause the most amount of pain, while the probability of killing her remained low. The Murfee’s had the act of torture down to a fine art, they were able to tread that thin line between abject suffering and death, to elongate their pleasure. Florence lifted her shirt to expose the existing bandages, Susan deftly and gently pulled them away and then reached for a damp cloth to clean the wounds. She applied the salve quickly and rewrapped the bandages, not caring to prolong the situation for either woman. 

When she was finished, she rolled up her own sleeve to allow Florence access to her own injuries. Florence unravelled the bandage, there was a slight infection in her wounds which caused the bandage to stick. She winced as Florence tugged it from her arm, but then the younger woman lent forward and blew lightly on the burning skin, a cool puff of air passed over her wounds and she felt a small ounce of relief. “I am sorry, Miss.” Susan shook her head, “Not to worry Miss Taylor, I’ll live.” The younger woman continued to wash the wounds and redress them with the salve, then she wrapped the new dressing around the woman’s arm. “We need to keep an eye on that infection, we will have to redress your injuries a little more often than we have been in order to draw it out completely.” Susan nodded again and Florence looked down at her feet, “I am not a violent person, Ms Grimshaw, but I swear I will skin him alive if he ever lays a finger on you again.” Susan chuckled and placed her hand under the other woman’s chin drawing her gaze upwards until their eyes met, “I believe you will and that scares me.” Florence drew the older woman’s hand away from her face and held it tight in her own, then she got to her feet again. “Come on, Ms. You’re exhausted and so am I.”

She allowed the older woman to step out in front again and they walked the short distance to the lodgings. Susan stepped in under the awning and turned to face the younger woman, she had not realized how close Florence was and it caused her to stumble. Instinctually, Florence reached out and wrapped her arms around the older woman’s waist. Susan’s shirt had come untucked and Florence’s fingers found the soft skin at the base of her back as she pulled her close. Susan was quiet, she did not allow her gaze to meet Florence’s but still, she did not pull away. She enabled the silence to continue for as long as possible until the younger woman’s fingers began drawing lazy circles on her skin. She felt her own nerves pulling the muscles in her chest taut, to taut to breathe. Unprompted Florence took a step back and withdrew her hand also, the air rushed back into Susan’s lungs, but a sadness settled in her bones. The younger woman had sensed the tension in Susan’s body, she felt the hesitancy transfer from the woman’s skin to her fingertips and she did not wish to overwhelm her. 

These last few days had been strange, she had felt drawn towards Susan Grimshaw from the moment she opened her eyes. She could feel the older woman pulling her close too and she hoped to banish any feelings of uncertainty by allowing the other woman to break in her new feelings gently. Susan’s gaze remained fixed on the ground, Florence watched the rapid and rhythmic heaving of the older woman’s chest. She looked on as the air that had escaped the woman’s lungs returned with great urgency, she waited patiently for any indication, when their eyes finally locked on each other. 

That was all Florence needed, she stepped in closer again, her hand snaked it's way back around the other woman’s waist, urging her closer. Her other hand took little time to find the curve of Susan’s jaw, her touch was light and soft. She used her thumb to trace the other woman’s delicate lips, the deep red cupid’s bow reminded her of the yarrow flower, she could only imagine the healing power those lips held. Her thumb found the peaks and deep curve of those lips, lips that had made her world stand still. They say the eyes are the gateway to the soul, Florence supposed this meant the lips could grant you access to the body. They are sensitive, convey yearning and they are the promise of passion to come. Florence longed for the feel of those lips on hers, but once again she allowed the other woman’s body to guide her movements and it said, “not yet.”  
Susan’s eyes were closed, and her breathing was shallow, her skin burned under the other woman’s touch. Florence brought both her hands up to cup the older woman’s face, she drew her in closer until Susan once again felt the other woman’s hot breath against her ear. “You are so beautiful, cher.” Florence holding tight to the ripcord of believing, let her lips gently brush the other woman’s cheek. She felt Susan’s breath hitch, she was centimetres away from her lips. “I promise I will not hurt you.” Her words met Susan’s ears and the older woman’s eyes flew open again, she nodded. Florence smiled, as the older woman reached up and her fingers became entwined in Florence’s hair, begging her to close the gap between them. 

Their lips met briefly; Florence was still determined to show Susan she was in control. She pulled back slightly but Susan quickly drew her in closer still. Their lips met again, at first their embrace was slow and polite, but as they delved deeper into each other it became more curious and their desire became wider and more demanding. They continued to find each other with a sense of urgency that summoned to mind the word ‘devouring.’


	12. Will you help me?

The two women stilled when Florence felt Susan’s palm press against her chest. She drew back and searched the woman’s face again, the light around them was just enough for her to make out the startled lust in the other woman’s eyes. It did not settle completely on the older woman’s features; in seconds it had been replaced with shyness. She recognized apprehension and she felt it tear at her heart. Florence stepped right back and took the older woman’s hand in hers, “I will never ask for more from you than you are willing to give.” One at a time she pulled the woman’s hands to her lips and kissed each palm softly, then she led the other woman to sit under the awning. She took a seat on the flatbed first and Susan followed, she sat close, their shoulders brushed up against one another. Time seemed to move slower in the silence, every second the other woman refused to look at or speak to her was agony. 

“Can I ask you a question?” Finally, Susan spoke, Florence nodded unsure of what was to come. “You said earlier that you and your husband were not attracted to each other, was he?” Susan faltered, “Attracted to women, no, I was the only one in our relationship with the sense to seek the company of the fairer sex.” She nudged Susan playfully and it garnered a small chuckle. “So, this isn’t your first time?” Florence stifled a laugh, afraid to wake their campmates, “No, Ma’am. And you?” Susan hung her head slightly, as an ignominious look crept over her features, “I paid my dues as a working girl when I was younger, Miss. And then as a Madame, there is very little I haven’t encountered, but I myself have never…with another woman.” Florence was saddened by the shame that Susan felt over her past and her present, she held out her hand, an invitation to the woman beside her. One that Susan accepted readily, “I said it before and I meant it, I would never judge another person for the way they live their lives, Ms. How can I?” 

Susan brushed her thumb across the back of Florence’s hand, “Me neither.” Susan had been privy to the sexual preferences and fantasies of many individuals over the years. There were men who enjoyed the presence of more than one woman and expected the women to enjoy the other's company also. Some men brought their wives with them, as they too wish to partake of the female form. For some of the female workers, men were for work and women were for pleasure, though it wasn’t something they would go shouting in the street. Susan had yearned for the experience but when it presented itself in the past, her courage had failed her. She had never truly felt settled with a man, even Thomas, it had always felt like something was missing. “Are you ok, Ms?” She was, for the most part, but her own insecurities plagued her, she had no idea what the other woman saw in her.

She was much older than Florence, more weathered, which made the other woman’s attraction hard to fathom. “Cher, talk to me. Let me in, you’re safe with me.” Florence could almost hear the other woman over-thinking beside her, her whole body practically vibrated with uncertainty. “Why me, Miss? The other woman, they’re much…” Florence could tell what was coming and squeezed Susan’s hand firmly, “They are not you. I wish you could see what I see.” Susan laughed, “I do see it, Miss. I see exactly what you see every time I look in the mirror.” Florence was familiar with Susan’s insecurities, “With all due respect, ma’am, if that were true, you would not ask me why.” She turned herself to face the older woman and brushed a stray hair behind her ear, “Cher, you really are disarmingly unaware of how beautiful you are. But I will gladly remind you, every second of every day until you believe me.”

A new blush set in and for the first time Susan glanced around the camp to see if anyone was watching. She admonished herself for how irresponsible she had been. “There is no one looking, my lady. When you live the way I have done, you become an expert at looking over your shoulder.” Florence was telling the truth, the whole camp was still, the only thing moving was the wind as it tumbled through foliage and rustled through tent flaps.

Susan stifled a yawn, “You should sleep, cher. I will be here when you wake, for now just rest.” The older woman did not protest, in truth, she was exhausted. Florence lent in and placed a small kiss on the other woman’s cheek, as she drew away, she felt Susan’s hand rest on the back of her neck. The hand caused her to halt inches from Susan’s lips, Florence found her face and those lips waiting eagerly like a question. Once again, the world around them disappeared, they kissed once, and then again, Susan couldn’t help but wonder if she would ever have enough. Their bodies melted into each other with lips parted, mouths hungry and tongues curious, any gentle exploration had ceased as each woman tasted the other impatiently. 

They parted breathlessly and both women fought hard to contain their laughter, nervousness forced it out of the pit of their stomach. As the laughter subsided, they rested their foreheads together, “Sleep, before we wake each other entirely, Miss.” 

The next morning Florence woke alone, the camp had sprung to life around her as she slept, it seemed she had slumbered longer than she intended. She got to her feet with a slight wobble, but it was much easier than yesterday. She smiled as she locked eyes on Mary-Beth and Karen at the camp table and she gingerly made her way over to them. “Good Morning, Miss” Karen hollered jovially and when Mary-Beth noticed her she rushed to the other woman side. “Good Morning, Miss Taylor. How are you feeling?” The younger woman offered her arm and Florence took it, it wasn’t necessary, but it was comforting. “Decidedly better than yesterday, little darlin’.” Mary-Beth smiled, “Have you ladies seen Ms Grimshaw this morning?” Karen patted the seat next to her, “If I was you miss, I would steer clear of Ms Grimshaw this morning, that woman is angrier than a beaten bear. And she’s mean when she’s angry.” Florence smiled hesitantly, “What happened?” 

None of them had been aware of Abigail’s approach until they heard her voice, “Oh some rotten bastard smashed the box.” Florence was confused, “We have this box we keep the camp funds in. You see, for every job we do the camp gets it’s cut, and we keep it in a little wooden box. It’s been that way for years and someone smashed it. Half the camp is already at odds with each other, Ms Grimshaw is upset, but god forbid she let us see it. So, she gets mad and mean.” Florence chuckled, “Where is she?” Abigail took a seat at the table, she knew the other woman’s intention was to find her, “Oh she stormed off down by the river, that a way. But don’t say we didn’t warn you.” Florence patted her shoulder and laughed again before heading off in the direction Abigail had indicated.

She looked down the slope towards the river and spotted Susan on its bank. Florence made her way down to her cautiously and she had almost reached Susan when the older woman turned and spotted her. Florence could tell Susan wished to scold her for making the trek down to the riverbank, so instead of stopping she walked straight past the other woman. After a few steps then she turned and offered her hand and a cheeky smile, “Walk with me, that way if I fall in the river you can jump in and save me.” Susan laughed and shook her head, “Save you, you’ll be lucky if I am not the one pushing you in.” Florence did little to hide the shock on her face, as Susan’s hand found hers and she led them off down the river a little. “You wouldn’t.” She replied though Florence was certain that was not a theory she wished to test.

After a short walk, Florence looked back, they were no longer visible from the camp. She stopped next to a few larger rocks and took a seat, her hand still clasped in the older woman’s. “Abigail told me what happened to the box, is that all that is bothering you?” Susan knew what the other woman was hinting at and so to dispel any concerns, she stepped between the younger woman’s legs where she sat and captured her lips. It lasted a few seconds before she pulled away, “No.” Susan stepped away and turned to face the river again, “They have become so cruel, we were a family. We looked out for each other and now it’s just every man for himself. And those girls, my girls, if anyone gets hurt it will be them, I know it. That’s how this works, the innocent pay for the sins of the guilty. I can’t bear it; I am heartbroken.”

Florence took to her feet again and approached the other woman. She summoned the courage and wrapped her arms around Susan’s waist and the older woman leaned back into the embrace. Florence rested her head on Susan’s shoulder, “We have lost enough, I can not watch more of us disappear. Our loyalty is killing us.” Florence contemplated her words; she had stayed because she felt compelled to protect these women. She agreed with Susan, they usually fell victim to the schemes of men. “How do I save them?” Fresh tears slipped down Susan’s cheek. 

Florence was at a loss, she held the other woman tighter, to hide her inability to answer. She hoped the questions were rhetorical because she could offer no solution. Susan turned in her arms, her eyes pleading, “Will you help me?”


	13. Do you have any idea what you have done?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, back, back again. Hopefully, I will be able to get a routine going, I apologise from the ridiculous delay in updating this fic. Thank you to Apple_Bottom_Beans (sorry if that isn't exactly you handle) for commenting and giving me the much-needed kick in the butt to get going again. I hope you enjoy the new chapter. :)

Florence nodded slowly. Her words had failed her, they felt like lies forming behind her lips, she struggled to keep her mind from picking at the shelves of worst possible outcomes. She found it hard to still the beat of her heart as she held the other woman, contemplating whether their seconds together borrowed, would turn into time owed.  
Susan moved away from her towards the riverbank. She watched the water, it reminded her of Dutch, a strong current with the ability to drown even the most capable swimmer. She watched as the delicate leaves pirouetted in the wind. It lifted them from where they had fallen, taking them somewhere new. Some fell on a new path, others lifted over trees and a handful breached the surface of the water before the current swallowed them. Leaves that landed elsewhere had the chance of being transported again, in the next updraft. Those that landed in the river had no choice but to succumb. They would not succumb.

She turned and held out her hand for Florence and she began to lead them back towards camp. The hill was steeper than Florence remember, she took Susan’s arm and the older woman wrapped her arm around Florence’s waist. Slowly they ambled up the hill and returned to the table where the younger women were still seated. The change in Susan’s demeanour did not go unnoticed, she was softer these days. Wherever Florence was, there was calm, she brought it with her like a breeze. The women had to their detriment grown used to the men blowing so hot they snuffed themselves out, so they had embraced Florence’s energy willing.  
Florence wobbled as she approached the table, the steep incline having had more impact than she wanted to show. Once again, Mary-Beth took swiftly to her feet, Susan smiled at her softly and her hand slipped from Florence’s waist. The older woman went off in search of food for the two of them and Mary-Beth helped Florence back to the table. “Thank you, Little Darlin’.”

“You gotta let us in on your secret,” Abigail raised an eyebrow as she spoke, “Tell me what it pertains to Miss and I might?” Florence laughed as did the other woman. “That woman is like a feral cat, I ain’t never seen someone calm her so quick. In fact, I ain’t never seen anyone calm her.” Florence chuckled, “She must be a protector, disciplinarian and friend. Her actions are often selfless and self-sacrificing to care for those in her charge. It is being cracked open by panic, worry and stress, but also pulling yourself together before anyone sees it.” She avoided any eye contact with the women and instead watched for Susan’s return. “This life is demanding, draining and dangerous, it requires sharp edges to survive, you know that. Imagine, if you protected her as she has protected you all this time.”

Just as she finished her thought, a strong lilting voice floated over her shoulder and she turned to get a look at the individual it belonged to. Dutch and petite redhead emerged from his tent, they railed against one another. Florence watched as Mary-Beth squeezed her eyes closed, “Oh Molly,” she muttered under her breath. It was clear the young woman had been drinking, she spoke in a slow inebriated drawl, the venom dripping from each word. “I can’t believe I ever loved you…you’re pathetic.” Dutch became eerily still, “Miss O’Shea, you are making quite the spectacle of yourself.” Molly laughed in his face, “And what are you going to do about it, hit me?” The older man used one step to close the distance between himself and the young redhead, he took a hold of her arm, he forced his digits into the soft skin and Molly winced. 

Florence's heart raced, she conjured images of him digging his fingers into Susan’s skin, envisioned it breaking under the pressure and the pain that followed. Florence was not scared of Dutch Van Der Linde, she had known men like him her whole life. The anger that seethed beneath her pleasant veneer fuelled her, without thinking she took to her feet and strode confidently across the camp. Her approach had not gone unnoticed, Dutch turned to face her, he let go of Molly’s arm as she reached him. “Miss Taylor, Good Morning.” She calmly placed herself in between the previously enraged couple, she proceeded to place a protective arm around Molly and usher her towards the other women. “Go join the others.” The younger woman was clearly stunned, but did not hesitate, “Now Miss Taylor, I thought you smarter than to insert yourself in matters that do not concern you.”  
Florence smirked; his bravado faltered. The only thing Dutch had was fear and she was not afraid of him. She stepped in closer and brought her lips to his ears, “Let us see how clever you are Mr Van Der Linde. Unlike most people in this camp, I am not afraid of you...” Dutch took a step back, “I will say this quiet enough that it saves you any embarrassment, you have no hold on me, you do not own me and I do not owe you anything. You invited me to stay and I accepted, although I do not suppose I ever really had a chance. You wish to hurt me, be my guest and then watch as you further tarnish your already crumbling reputation.” Her tone was cutting, “Give them another reason not to trust you and see what happens. Do not mistake me for a sheep, Dutch, I am a wolf and I hunt men like you for sport.” Dutch’s stared blankly at her, he had never been spoken to like this by anyone, let alone a woman. “Touch one of those women again and I will…” 

His vexation finally surfaced, “You’ll do what Miss?” he spat, venom dripping from every syllable. The edges of Florence’s mouth turned up again, she revelled in his pathetic attempt to intimidate her. “I would keep your voice down, try not to draw attention to yourself, it will not paint you in a good light. I know all there is to know about men like you, but I can guarantee you have never encountered someone like me. I do not wish harm on this camp and I am happy to help protect it from those on the outside. Especially those women, so if you lay so much as a finger on one of them ever again and I will slit your goddamn throat without fear of repercussion.” Florence watched at the weight of her words settled on his features. “Do we have an understanding?” The older man seethed, she felt the heat emanating off his body, “I asked you a question, Mr Van Der Linde and a gentleman would provide an answer.” The older man’s hands twisted into fists and his knuckles turned white. “Are you quite finished Miss Taylor?”

“As long as we have an understanding. Do we have an understanding?” Dutch stepped towards her and she moved away, “Be careful, Miss.” Dutch’s mouth contorted into a snarl and he moved closer still, “No that is not how this is going to go, you will concede that I have the upper hand, you will agree to the terms laid out and we will part ways without incident. You have larger problems than little old me, conserve your energy.”

Florence was never one to back down, although she supposed neither was Dutch. Nevertheless, he threw his hands in the air and turned to leave and Florence cursed herself for flinching. “One last thing Mr Van Der Linde,” He stopped but did not turn to face her, “Miss O’Shea will lodge with Susan and me, indefinitely.” He shook his head and made his way back to his tent. 

She turned on her heel and headed back towards the others. As she neared the others Abigail got to her feet to allow her to sit again. “Thank you, Abigail.” A warmth rippled through Florence’s body, she knew the adrenaline could only carry her so far, she felt dizzy. She leant forward placing her head in her hands. Miss O’Shea spoke first, and Florence looked up from her hands to see the redhead’s outstretched hand, “I don’t believe we have met, I’m Molly. You didn’t have to do that but thank you.” Florence smiled and shook the other woman’s hand. “You’re welcome, Miss O’Shea.”

“Unfortunately, I will have to face him eventually.” Florence let go of her hand, “Yes, I imagine you will Miss, however, I have made alternative sleeping arrangements for you, you will stay with Susan and me in her lodgings.” The women around the table looked astounded, “You’re just one surprise after another, Miss,” Karen got to her feet and shook her head. “You are quite something aren’t you?” Molly laughed “I don’t think I have ever seen him back down like that.” She offered a weak smile back and then turned to leave. “Are you ok, Miss?” Mary-Beth placed a gentle hand on Florence’s shoulder, “I reckon you might regret whatever just happened between you and Dutch, he doesn’t take kindly to that sorta thing.” Florence reached up and placed her hand on top of Mary-Beth’s and gave it a reassuring squeeze, “Men like him rarely do, Little Darlin’, don’t you worry about me, I can handle myself.” 

Having regained her bearings and composure, she politely excused herself from the table, after spotting Susan behind Pearson’s wagon. She stood and steadied herself, then slowly made her way towards the older woman. As she drew closer Susan spoke. “Do you have any idea what you have done?”


	14. He is No Finger of God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I make no excuses, apologies that I lost my way with this fic. I also will not make any promises but here is the next installment and I truly hope you like it. :)

She reached out for the older woman and Susan flinched as though her touch might burn. “Cher..” Susan raised her hand cutting Florence off as she spoke, “I have feared very little in this life…but that man terrifies me, he is unhinged, and he loses a little more of himself every day. He is the finger of God, and he extinguishes everything in his wake. I have watched as he….as his plans have destroyed the family, I have built around me, he has taken every brother, sister, and child…one by one he picks them off…disposable pawns in his game. And yet I remain, it is my curse, my penance, to bury them all, to mourn them all…over and over.” Florence and Susan locked eyes, tears threatened to spill from the older woman’s. Florence chanced a tentative step forward; Susan did not flinch this time Florence wrapped her arms around her, pulling her close. 

“He is no finger of God, Miss…” Susan scoffed and pulled away from the younger woman. “He is a narcissistic maniac, who thrives on fear. He is disarmingly charming to those who cannot see past the surface, he is educated and manipulative, but these qualities do not make him some kind of deity…he is a man and a man that will ultimately fall foul to his own folly. Death comes for all of us, he expects all debts paid in full, Dutch Van Der Linde owes more than his fair share.” Susan threw her hands up, “And how is it Miss, that you think yourself an expert on Dutch Van Der Linde?” 

Florence folded her arms and turned her gaze to the ground between them, “My father, he was a malignance, a pestilence sent to this earth to rot everything he touched. On the outside he appeared respectable, his charm was deceptive enough to disarm you, to expose your weakness, only for him to exploit it. He was an evil man, he was persuasive, a viper in disguise. I am not an expert on Dutch, but I have plenty of experience with men like him.”

Florence inhaled deeply and sighed heavily, “This morning you asked for my help, I promise I will protect you.” Susan began to retract her hand, Florence reached for it as it retreated, already missing the feel of the other woman. “When the monsters can no longer feed on your fear, you expose their weakness, and they can either strike or scurry. Either one will be the monster’s end. Men have no right to occupy our minds or bodies and they certainly have no right to our fear. This will not be your end Susan, if I can survive the Murfee’s you will survive Dutch Van Der Linde, we will leave this place and never look back.”   
A loud clatter behind them made the two women leap apart, they spun around to investigate the source of the noise. Arthur Morgan stood before them, he could not look either woman in the eye, his left hand came up to rub the back of his neck, he was very clearly uncomfortable. He had not meant to intrude on the intimate moment between the two women.

“Sorry…” He offered louder than either woman would have deemed necessary. Susan took to her heels and marched square up to the younger man, she was so relieved to see him she momentarily forgot about his intrusion, “You have had me worried ill….” She scolded him like a little boy, “This is not the time for wandering Mr Morgan, I have enough to deal with, without worrying that one of you won’t come back.” Arthur laughed nervously, “Aw, Miss Grimshaw, if I didn’t know any better, I would think you cared.” The older woman slapped his arm, “Yes, well…don’t go flapping your gums about it, I got a reputation to protect and a camp to run.” Florence laughed, “Nice to see you again, Mr Morgan.” Arthur offered her a shy smile, “And you, Miss, you look well.” It was clear he had no intention of bringing up the moment he had potentially witness between the two women. “You are very kind, sir. I am a long way off looking well but I feel much better.” 

“Speaking of which, we have to change those bandages, Miss.” Florence smiled at Susan and nodded, “Mr Morgan, if you head out again, will you look out for yarrow, it’s a small plant with a five-pointed red flower?” Florence continued as the man rooted in his satchel, “It is good for inflammation, infection and bruising…” She faltered and he produced a handful of the very flowers she needed, from his bag, “This it?” The young woman found herself unable to do anything but smile around this man. “The very one, Mr Morgan, you are full of surprises.” She held out her hands and he handed off the tiny red petal plant, “I will keep my eye out for some more.” With that he turned to leave. Susan held out her hand and led Florence toward the back of her lodgings for some privacy. Florence took a seat on an old apple crate.  
Susan retrieved Strauss’s pestle and mortar and the younger woman set about making the poultice. As Florence worked, Susan settled against the same apple crate with a book, she let her head fall back against the young woman’s thigh as she read. Florence finished the poultice, they argued over who would benefit from it most, “Susan..” her name fell from the young woman’s lips and she forgot why she was arguing in the first place. Susan conceded and watched as Florence once again delicately peeled the bandage from her arm, tenderly washed her wounds and kindly dressed and wrapped her arm again. It was only a small handful of the flowers and it did not stretch far, so Susan tended Florence’s own wounds with the burdock salve. Her wounds were healing, Susan was pleased with their progress.

After finishing the task Susan stood, “Unfortunately, I cannot lollygag around all day, I have a camp to tend to as well.” Florence smiled up at her from the apple crate, “In that case put me to work, Miss. What would you have me do today?” This time Susan’s eyes nearly rolled into the back of her head, “Rest, Miss Taylor, that is what I would have you do today.” Before Florence could argue, she turned on her heel and sped off across the camp. Florence shook her head and took to her feet as well. She rounded the wagon to find the other women had dispersed, she felt a low grumble in her stomach. She returned to the table after collecting some sustenance from Pearson’s wagon, an apple, some bread, and cheese, she had chanced a glance into the stew pot and wretched at the thought of it. 

“Good Morning, Miss.” She heard tiny feet approaching from her right and spun round to find Jack barrelling towards her. “Good Morning, Little Prince.” When he reached her, he bent in two, his little chest heaved to catch the breath that had escaped him. As soon as it had returned to him, he clambered up unto Florence’s knee and settled himself in her lap. She chuckled as he began to regale her will all the wonderful noises he had heard around the camp, he imitated the birds, the water and even a few members of the camp. “And what will you get up to today, Little Prince?” The small boy scrunched up his face as he pondered the question, “I don’t know, I’m bored.”

“Well, how about a game?” Florence tickled his sides, “You ever play, I spy?” He shook his head, he had not, but he sure wanted to. She quickly explained the rules to him, ‘gave him a few examples and they were off. They played for what felt like an age After they played ticktacktoe in the dirt with sticks and then Florence taught him how to play dominoes. “Beginner’s luck, Mr Marston,” Florence smiled after he beat her for the fourth time in a row. “Well Little Prince how about a walk, help me stretch these old legs of mine?” The little boy hopped down from the table and held out his hand. “Where to then?”   
Jack led her to see the horses again and along the parameter of the camp, they passed the ladies lodging, there they found Tilly and Mary-Beth working on their chores, they waved as Jack trailed Florence forward on their journey. He showed her the tent he slept in, Uncle Arthurs wagon, where they kept the ammunition, the scout campfire where they crafted and then he led her back to the table again. Then Abigail called him, and he disappeared between the wagons again and she was left on her own once more. Florence had never been one to sit idle, she had spent many days with nothing but those horrible cave walls to look at and nothing to occupy her mind or body. Taking matters into her own hands, she ambled her way back to the ladies lodging and the other women greeted her with a smile, “Everything ok, Miss?” Mary-Beth spoke first, she got to her feet quickly, “Oh Little Darlin’ I am fine, but doing nothing has become very tiresome.”

Tilly and Mary-Beth laughed, “We wouldn’t know Miss, sometimes I think we’d have to be on deaths door to get a day off around here and even that is not guaranteed.” Florence made her way to sit on the crates under the awning, “Is there anything that I can help with?” The young women exchanged looks, “You any good with a needle and threat, Miss?” She nodded, “Are you kidding? I am an artist, what needs sewing?” They handed her a handful of clothing that needed mending and scrap material for patches, on some of the trousers the knees were threat bare. They worked in silence for a while, Florence flew through the repairs, her nimble fingers made short work of the task. “Miss Taylor…” Mary-Beth spoke again, “Can I ask you a question?”

The older woman nodded but did not look up from the trousers she was working on, “Of course little darlin’” The younger blonde woman hesitated for a second before continuing, “Do you believe in God?” A laugh erupted from Florence before she had time to dampen it, it was a deep guttural laugh from her belly. “Not at all, do you?” Mary-Beth had been raised in a deeply religious household and Florence could tell, it had left an indelible mark on the young woman. Like many others it was a deep-seeded source of shame and anguish, lives fraught with judgement based on the ideals of the religion you were raised in. “I thought I did for a long time and now I don’t know at all. You seem so sure, Miss.” Religion was a sensitive subject for a lot of people but for Florence it had been a topic she avoided, given her rather firm views and personal experience. “I am, Miss. It is not something I like to talk about, my opinions do not tend to invite kindness or civility.”

Tilly listened intently but did not speak, “How can you be so certain? If you do not mind answering, Miss. If you do, you can just forget I said anything.” Florence moved on to the next piece of clothing, a night dress, the collar had torn. She took a brief second to contemplate if she would respond and how, she was a very honest person by nature and had to consider the repercussions of that before acting. “There are many reasons, little Darlin’. Look at some of the atrocities that have been committed in the name of religion, the pain that it has caused is reprehensible. Religion thrives on judgement and condemnation and it villainizes basic human urges, that harm no one. Religion has been the driving force behind the idea that women are property, belong to their father then their husband, are less than. They decided that women with any sexual appetite be declared deviant and a harlot, they reinforce this putrid idea of virgin innocence, only for men to defile it whenever they please. The church puts people in positions of power and allows them to abuse it, they reinforce racist radical movements, most members of any congregation are in the Klan. And then we come to the historic abuse of children that has taken place under the watchful eye of the almighty, mental, physical and emotional abuse that ruins lives.” Even though her blood boiled, her demeanour did not betray her, Florence said what she had to say in a calm and deliberate manner.

Mary-Beth stopped scrubbing the washing in the basin and sat back to let Florence’s words wash over her. “I never thought about it like that before.” Mary-Beth considered her own upbringing, her parents were deeply connected with the church, which was something that reared its head in moments of shame over where she had ended up. “Perhaps scepticism and desertion are reserved for the victims of abuse.” Florence looked up, “I was 11 the first time a member of the church raped me. I was 14 when it stopped, when I got strong enough to fight back. What kind of God lets that happen? One that doesn’t exist, a false idol used to manipulate and control people.” Mary-Beth had come to take a seat on the crate beside Florence, she stilled the older woman’s hands and took one into her own. “I was 7.” All three women spun around to find Karen standing in the opening between the wagons, “It weren’t anything to do with the church, my father sold me for money to feed his gambling habit.” Florence held out her other hand and beckoned the young woman to sit with them. Karen found it hard to be vulnerable in front of people, but she took the hand offered and sat at the other woman’s feet. Florence instinctually let go of the young woman’s hand and wrapped her own arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “16, Ezekiel Foreman, but I was sweet on his brother Jacob. He asked me out, I refused, and he told me that he did not need my permission. I have had more than my fair share of encounters with violent men, but that one hurt, he was my friend and I trusted him. It happened more than once, finally one night I waited until he was asleep, I crept into his bedroom and I shot him. I woke him right before I pulled the trigger too, I wanted him to know it was me. I told Jacob everything, he made me run, before the other’s found out.” Tilly had made her way over to sit under the awning as well. 

“I got nothing to compare it to, I ain’t never been sweet on anyone, I have not known men outside of transactions. Kieran was the first man to be truly kind to me, without expecting anything in return. I miss him.” Florence wrapped her free arm around Mary-Beth, she rubbed circles on the woman’s back and shed a tear for her. Tilly had come to rest on Karen and Karen was still tucked in at Florence’s side, they stayed like this for a while. No one spoke, they allowed themselves time to take solace in the silence for a moment. “We cannot change the past, but we do not have to let it dictate our future. Let us not dwell on these violent encounters, but may we never forget them either, we have become who we are despite what we have experienced.”


End file.
